THE  CHILDREN  OF 


EDUCATION  1IBH. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

Education 
GIFT  OF 

Louise  Farrow  Barr 


FOUR  WINDS  FARM 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE 


H. 


FOUR  WINDS  FARM 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE 


BY 


MRS.    MOLESWORTH 

AUTHOK  OF  "CARROTS,"  "  CUCKOO  CLOCK,"  "  GRANDMOTHER  DEAR,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY   WALTER    CRANE 


ISTefo  gorfe 
MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND    LONDON 
1893 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


New  uniform  edition  set  up  and  electrotyped  October,  1893. 


Education 
GIFT 


J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith. 
Boston,  Mass..  U.S.A. 


r- 

PZ  7 
< 


CONTENTS. 
FOUE  WINDS   FAEM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

THE  VOICES  IN  THE  CHIMNEY 1 


CHAPTER  IT. 
AT  SCHOOL 13 

CHAPTER   III. 
FLYING  VISITS 25 

CHAPTER   IV. 
A  RAINBOW  DANCE 37 

CHAPTER  V. 
GOOD  FOR  EVIL .        .50 

CHAPTER  VI. 
ORGAN  TONES 

Y 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VIL 

PAGE 

THE  BIG  HOUSE  AND  THE  LADY 76 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
LITTLE  FERGUS 89 

CHAPTER   IX. 
Music  AND  COUNSEL .  102 

CHAPTER    X. 
THE  STORY  OF  THE  SEA-GULL  .    115 

CHAPTER   XI. 
DRAWN  Two  WAYS «        .    130 

CHAPTER  XII. 
LEARNING  TO  WAIT 144 


CONTENTS. 

THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 
CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

RUBY  AND  MAVIS 

CHAPTER   II. 

WlNFRIED 

CHAPTER   TIT. 
THE  PRINCESS  WITH  THE  FORGET-ME-NOT  EYES     .        .      30 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  BOY  AND  A  BOAT •        .45 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  FISHERMAN'S  HUT     . 

CHAPTER  VI. 
BERTRAND    ' 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

PAGE 

IN  THE  TURRET-ROOM 92 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
A  NAUGHTY  PLAN 106 

CHAPTER   IX. 
BEGINNINGS?       .....  .121 

CHAPTER       . 
"  FORGET-ME-NOT  LAND"  ....  .     134 

CHAPTER   XT. 
DOWN  THE  WELL 145 

CHAPTER   XII. 
OPENED  EYES     ....  158 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 
FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

AND    THUS    SHE    LED    HIM    OUT    OF    THE   LARGE, 

COLD  HALL Frontispiece 

WAS  IT  FANCY  THAT  HE  HAD  SEEN  A  WAV- 
ING, FLUTTERING  FORM  BESIDE  HIM?"  To  face  page  26 

"  Now  FOR  OUR  DANCE  —  OUR  RAINBOW 
DANCE,  SISTERS  —  NO  NEED  TO  WAKE 
HIM  ROUGHLY.  AVE  NEED  ONLY  KISS  HIS 
EYELIDS" "40 

"  LOOK  HERE,  DOLLY,"  AND  HE  HELD  OUT  TO 
HER  THE  POOR  COPY-BOOK  WHICH  HE  HAD 
ALREADY  TAKEN  OUT  OF  HIS  SATCHEL  .  "  57 

AND  WHEN  SHE  SAT  DOWN  TO  PLAY  THE 
LIGHT  SPARKLED  AND  GLOWED  ON  HER 
FAIR  HAIR,  MAKING  IT  LOOK  LIKE  GOLD  .  "  105 

"ARE   YOU    NOT   WELL,  MOTHER  ?  "  HE   SAID 

GENTLY "133 

IT  WAS  FERGUS,  LITTLE  LAME  FERGUS, 
MOUNTED  ON  A  TlNY  HOUGH- COATED 
PONY,  COMING  TOWARDS  HIM  ...  "  154 

ix 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 
THE   CHILDREN   OF  THE   CASTLE. 

"  ARE  —  ARE  YOU  A  MERMAID,  OR  A  —  THAT 

OTHER  THING?"  ASKED  THE  CHILD          .        Frontispiece 

"CAN    I — ?"    HE    BEGAN,    THEN    HESITATED  To  face  page  20 

'•  —  OH  RUBY!"   SHE   SUDDENLY   BROKE   OFF, 

"  DO  LOOK  HERE  —  OH,  HOW  LOVELY  !  "     .  "  52 

"  MAVIS,"  SAID  THE  SOFT  YET  CLEAR  AND 
THRILLING  VOICE,  "  YOU  SEE  ME,  MY 
CHILD?" "70 

WlNFRIED  DREW  FORWARD  A  CHAIR  ;  IN  AN- 
OTHER MINUTE  HE  HAD  REACHED  DOWN 
THE  CROSS "108 

"  —  BERTRAND  —  LOOK  —  WHERE  is  MAVIS  — 

MAVIS      AND      THE     BOAT  ;      CAN     YOU     SEE 

THEM?" "129 

"STOP  A  MOMENT,"   SAID   THE   BOY.      "STOP 

AND      LISTEN  —  HUSH  —  THERE      NOW,      DO 

YOU    HEAR    THEM    RINGING?"         ...  "  140 


AND   THUS    SHE   LED   HIM   OUT   OF  THE   LARGE,   COLD   HALL.  —  page  88. 

— Frontispiece , 


OUR 
WINDS 
FARM. 


BY   MKS 

Author  of  "Carrots'The  Cu 


First  Edition  1887.      Reprinted  1891. 


TO 

jftlg  goimgest  IBaiujfjter 
OLIVE 

I  INSCRIBE   THIS   LITTLE    STORY 

WHICH  WE  THOUGHT  OF 
TOGETHER 


LONDON,  June,  1886 


"IN  ...  his  dream  he  saw  a  child  moving,  and  could  divide  the  main 
streams,  at  least,  of  the  winds  that  had  played  on  him,  and  study  so  the 
first  stage  in  that  mental  journey." 

TJie  Child  in  the  House.  —  WALTER  II.  PATER. 


FOUR  WINDS   FARM. 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE   VOICES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY. 

"  Wherefore  and  whence  we  are  ye  cannot  know." 

"  The  Winds'  Song,"  Light  of  Asia.  —  EDWIN  ARNOLD. 

THE  first  thing  that  little  Gratian  Conyfer  could 
remember  in  his  life  was  hearing  the  wind  blow. 
It  had  hushed  him  to  sleep,  it  had  scolded  him 
when  he  was  naughty,  it  had  laughed  with  him  at 
merry  times,  it  had  wailed  and  sobbed  when  he  was 
in  sorrow. 

For  the  wind  has  many  ways  of  blowing,  and  no 
one  knew  this  better  than  Gratian,  and  no  one  had 
more  right  to  boast  an  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  wind  than  he.  You  would  be  sure  to  say  so 
yourself  if  you  could  see  the  place  where  the  boy 
was  born  and  bred  —  "  Four  Winds  Farm." 

It  had  not  come  by  this  name  without  reason, 
though  no  one  still  living  when  Gratian  was  a  boy, 
could  tell  how  long  it  had  borne  it,  or  by  whom  it 
had  been  bestowed.  I  wish  I  could  take  you  there 
—  were  it  but  for  five  minutes,  were  it  even  in  a 
dream.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  feel  what  I  can 

l 


2  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

fancy  I  feel  myself  when  I  think  of  it  —  the  wonder- 
ful fresh  breath  on  one's  face  even  on  a  calm  day 
standing  at  the  door  of  the  farm-house,  the  sense  of 
life  and  mischief  and  wild  force  about  you,  though 
held  in  check  for  the  moment,  the  knowledge  that 
the  wind  —  the  winds  rather,  all  four  of  them,  are 
there  somewhere,  hidden  or  pretending  to  be  asleep, 
maybe,  but  ready  all  the  same  to  burst  out  at  a 
moment's  notice.  And  when  they  do  burst  out  —  on 
a  blowy  day  that  is  to  say  —  ah  then,  I  wouldn't  ad- 
vise you  to  stand  at  the  farm-house  door,  unless  you 
want  to  be  hurled  out  of  the  way  more  unceremoni- 
ously than  you  bargained  for. 

It  was  a  queer  site  perhaps  to  have  chosen  for  a 
dwelling-place.  Up  among  the  moors  that  stretched 
for  miles  and  miles  on  all  sides,  on  such  lofty  ground 
that  it  was  no  wonder  the  trees  refused  to  grow  high, 
for  it  was  hard  work  enough  to  grow  at  all,  poor 
things,  and  to  keep  their  footing  when  they  had 
done  so.  They  did  look  battered  about  and  storm- 
tossed —  all  except  trie  pines,  who  are  used  to  that 
kind  of  life,  I  suppose,  and  did  their  duty  manfully 
as  sentinels  on  guard  round  the  old  brown  house,  in 
which,  as  I  said,  the  boy  Gratian  first  opened  his 
baby  eyes  to  the  light. 

Since  that  day  nine  winters  and  summers  had 
passed.  He  was  called  a  big  boy  now.  He  slept 
alone  in  a  room  away  up  a  little  stair  by  itself  in  a 
corner  —  an  outside  corner  —  of  the  farm-house.  He 


THE    VOICES   IN    THE    CHIMNEY.  6 

walked,  three  miles  there  and  three  miles  back,  to 
school  every  day,  carrying  his  books  and  his  dinner 
in  a  satchel,  along  a  road  that  would  have  seemed 
lonely  and  dreary  to  any  but  a  moorland  child  —  a 
road  indeed  that  was  little  but  a  sheep-track  the 
best  part  of  the  way.  He  spent  his  evenings  in  a 
corner  of  the  large  straggling  kitchen,  so  quiet  that 
no  one  would  have  guessed  a  child,  above  all  a  boy, 
was  there ;  his  holidays,  the  fine  weather  ones  at 
least,  out  on  the  moor  among  the  heather  for  the 
most  part,  in  the  company  of  Jonas  the  old  shepherd, 
and  Watch  the  collie  dog.  But  he  never  thought 
his  life  lonely,  though  he  had  neither  brother  nor 
sister,  and  no  one  schoolfellow  among  the  score  or 
so  at  the  village  school  that  was  more  to  him  than 
another ;  he  never  thought  about  himself  at  all  in 
that  sort  of  way ;  he  took  for  granted  that  all  about 
him  was  as  it  should  be,  and  if  things  seemed  wrong 
sometimes  he  had  the  good  sense  to  think  it  was 
very  probably  his  own  fault. 

But  he  found  things  puzzling;  he  was  a  child 
who  thought  a  great  deal  more  than  he  spoke ;  he 
would  not  have  been  so  puzzled  if  he  had  had  more 
of  the  habit  of  putting  his  thoughts  into  words. 
Hitherto  it  had  not  seemed  to  matter  much,  life  had 
been  a  simple  affair,  and  what  he  did  not  understand 
he  forgot  about.  But  lately,  quite  lately,  he  had 
changed;  his  soul  was  beginning  to  grow,  perhaps 
that  was  it,  and  felt  now  and  then  as  if  it  wanted 


4  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

new  clothes,  and  the  feeling  was  strange.  And  then 
it  isn't  everybody  who  is  born  and  bred  where  the 
four  winds  of  heaven  meet ! 

What  was  Gratian  thinking  of  one  Sunday  evening 
when,  quiet  as  usual,  he  sat  in  his  corner  ?  He  had 
been  at  church  and  at  the  Sunday  School ;  but  I  am 
afraid  he  could  not  have  told  you  much  about  the 
sermon,  and  in  his  class  he  had  been  mildly  reproved 
for  inattention. 

"  You  must  go  to  bed,"  said  his  mother ;  "  it  is 
quite  time,  and  you  seem  sleepy." 

The  boy  rose  and  came  round  to  the  table  at 
which  sat  his  father  and  mother,  each  with  a  big 
book  which  Gratian  knew  well  by  sight  —  for  it  was 
only  on  Sunday  evenings  that  the  farmer  and  his 
wife  had  time  for  reading,  and  their  books  lasted 
them  a  good  while.  In  fact  they  had  been  reading 
them  fifty-two  evenings  of  each  year  ever  since  the 
boy  could  recollect,  and  the  marks,  of  perforated 
cardboard  on  green  ribbon  —  his  father's  bore  the 
words  "  Remember  me,"  and  his  mother's  "  Forget 
me  not  "  -  which  once,  before  he  could  read,  he  had 
regarded  with  mysterious  awe,  did  not  seem  to  him 
to  have  moved  on  many  pages. 

He  stood  at  the  table  for  a  moment  before  his 
mother  looked  up ;  he  was  vaguely  wondering  to 
himself  if  he  too  would  have  a  big  book  with  a 
green  ribbon-marker  when  he  should  be  as  old  as 
his  father  and  mother;  did  everybody?  he  felt 


THE    VOICES   IN   THE   CHIMNEY.  5 

half-inclined  to  ask  his  mother,  but  before  he  had 
decided  if  he  should,  she  scattered  his  thoughts  by 
glancing  up  at  him  quickly.  She  was  quick  and 
alert  in  everything  she  said  and  did,  except  perhaps 
in  reading. 

"  Good-night,  Gratian.  Get  quickly  to  bed,  my 
boy." 

"  Good-night,  mother,  good-night,  father,"  he  said, 
as  his  mother  kissed  him,  and  his  father  laid  his 
hand  on  the  child's  curly  head  with  a  kindly  gesture 
which  he  only  used  on  Sunday  evenings. 

"Gratian  is  in  one  of  his  dreams  again,"  said  the 
mother,  when  the  little  figure  had  disappeared. 

"Ay,"  said  her  husband,  "it's  to  be  hoped  he'll 
grow  out  of  it,  but  he's  young  yet." 

Gratian  had  stopped  a  moment  on  his  way  across 
the  red-tiled  passage,  at  one  end  of  which  was  the 
white  stone  staircase ;  he  stopped  at  the  front  door 
which  stood  slightly  ajar,  and  stepped  out  into  the 
porch.  It  was  autumn,  but  early  autumn  only.  Some- 
thing of  the  fragrance  of  a  summer  night  was  still 
about,  but  there  was  not  the  calm  and  restfulness 
of  the  summer;  on  the  contrary,  there  was  a  stir- 
ring and  a  murmuring,  and  the  clouds  overhead 
were  scudding  hurriedly  before  the  moon,  as  if  she 
were  scolding  them  and  they  in  a  hurry  to  escape, 
thought  Gratian ;  for  there  was  a  certain  fretfulness 
in  her  air  —  a  disquiet  and  unsettle dness  which 
struck  him. 


6  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

"  Either  she  is  angry  and  they  are  running  away, 
or  —  perhaps  that  is  it  —  she  is  sending  them  mes- 
sages as  fast  as  they  can  take  them,  like  the  rooks 
after  they  have  been  having  a  long  talk  together," 
he  said  to  himself.  Then  as  a  figure  came  round 
the  side  of  the  house  on  its  way  to  what  was  really 
the  kitchen  —  though  the  big  room  which  Gratian 
had  just  left  went  by  the  name  —  "  Jonas,"  said  the 
child  aloud,  "  is  there  anything  the  matter  up  in  the 
sky  to-night  ?  " 

The  old  shepherd  stood  still ;  he  rested  the  empty 
milkpail  he  was  carrying  on  the  ground,  and  gazed 
up  to  where  Gratian  was  pointing. 

"  I  cannot  say,"  he  answered,  "  but  the  summer  is 
gone,  little  master.  Up  here  the  winter  comes 
betimes,  we  must  look  for  the  storms  and  the  tem- 
pests again  before  long." 

"  But  not  yet,  oh  not  just  yet,  Jonas  ;  I  can't  think 
why  they  don't  get  tired  of  fighting  and  rushing 
about  and  tearing  each  other  —  the  winds  and  the 
rain  and  the  clouds  and  all  of  them  up  there.  Lis- 
ten, Jonas,  what  is  that?" 

For  a  faint,  low  breath  came  round  the  end  of  the 
house  like  a  long  drawn  sigh,  yet  with  something  of 
menace  in  its  tone. 

"  Ah  yes,  Master  Gratian.  It's  the  winter  spirit 
looking  round  a  bit  as  I  said.  They'll  be  at  it  to- 
night, I  fancy  —  just  a  spree  to  keep  their  hands  in 
as  it  were.  But  go  to  bed,  little  master,  and  dream 


THE    VOICES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY.  7 

of  the  summer.  There'll  be  some  fine  clays  yet 
awhile,"  and  old  Jonas  lifted  the  pail  again.  "  Madge 
must  give  this  a  scalding  before  milking  time  to- 
morrow morning,  careless  wench  that  she  is,"  he 
said  in  a  half-grumbling  tone  as  lie  disappeared. 

And  Gratian  climbed  upstairs  to  bed. 

He  had  a  candle,  and  matches  to  light  it  with,  in 
his  room,  but  the  moonlight  was  so  bright,  though 
fitful,  that  he  thought  it  better  than  any  candle. 
He  undressed,  not  quickly  as  his  mother  had  told 
him,  I  fear,  standing  at  the  curtainless  window  and 
staring  out,  up  rather,  where  the  clouds  were  still 
fussing  about  u  as  if  they  were  dusting  the  moon's 
face,"  said  Gratian  to  himself,  laughing  softly  at  this 
new  fancy.  And  even  after  he  was  in  bed  he  peeped 
out  from  time  to  time  to  watch  the  queer  shadows 
and  gleams,  the  quickly  following  light  and  darkness 
that  flitted  across  the  white  walls  of  his  little  room. 
It  was  only  an  attic,  but  I  think  almost  any  little 
boy  would  have  thought  it  a  nice  room.  Mrs.  Cony- 
fer  kept  it  beautifully  clean  to  begin  with,  and  there 
was  a  fireplace,  and  a  good  cupboard  in  the  wall,  and 
a  splendid  view  of  moor  and  sky  from  the  window. 
Gratian  was  very  proud  of  his  room ;  he  had  only 
had  it  a  short  time,  only  since  the  day  he  was  nine 
years  old,  and  it  made  him  feel  he  was  really  grow- 
ing a  big  boy.  But  to-night  he  was  hardly  in  his 
usual  good  spirits.  It  weighed  on  his  mind  that 
the  teacher  at  the  Sunday  School  had  been  displeased 


8  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

with  him ;  for  he  knew  him  to  be  kind  and  patient, 
and  Gratian  liked  to  win  his  smile  of  approval. 

"  It  is  always  the  same  with  me,"  thought  the 
little  boy,  "  at  school  every  day  too  I  am  the  stupidest. 
I  wish  there  were  no  lessons  in  the  world.  I  wish 
there  were  only  birds,  and  lambs,  and  hills,  and  moors, 
and  the  wind  —  most  of  all  the  wind,  and  no  books 
—  no  books,  and  — 

But  here  lie  fell  asleep  ! 

When  he  woke  the  room  was  quite  dark ;  the 
clouds  had  hung  their  dusters  over  the  moon's  face 
by  mistake  perhaps,  or  else  she  had  got  tired  of 
shining  and  had  turned  in  for  a  nap,  thought  Gratian 
sleepily.  He  shut  his  eyes  again,  and  curled  himself 
round  the  other  way,  and  would  have  been  asleep 
again  in  half  a  minute,  but  for  a  sound  which 
suddenly  reached  his  ears.  Some  one  was  talking 
near  him  !  Gratian  opened  his  eyes  again,  forgetting 
that  that  could  not  help  him  to  hear,  and  listened. 
Yes,  it  was  a  voice  —  two  voices ;  he  heard  one  stop 
and  the  other  reply,  and  now  and  then  they  seemed 
to  be  talking  together,  and  gradually  as  he  listened 
he  discovered  that  they  came  from  the  direction  of 
the  fireplace.  Could  it  be  the  voices  of  his  father 
and  mother  coming  up  from  below,  through  the 
chimney,  somehow?  No,  their  voices  were  not  so 
strangely  soft  and  sadly  sweet;  besides  their  room 
was  not  under  his,  nor  did  they  ever  talk  in  the 
middle  of  the  night. 


THE    VOICES   IN    THE   CHIMNEY.  9 

"  They  are  too  sleepy  for  that,"  thought  Gratian 
with  a  little  smile.  For  the  farmer  and  his  wife 
were  very  hard-working,  and  even  on  Sunday  they 
were  tired.  It  was  a  long  walk  to  church,  and 
unless  the  weather  were  very  bad  they  always  went 
twice. 

Gratian  listened  again,  more  intently  than  ever. 
The  voices  went  on ;  he  could  distinguish  the  different 
tones  —  more  than  two  he  began  to  fancy.  But  how 
provoking  it  was  ;  he  could  not  catch  the  words. 
And  from  the  strain  of  listening  he  almost  began  to 
fall  asleep  again,  when  at  last  —  yes,  there  was  no 
doubt  of  it  now  —  he  caught  the  sound  of  his  own 
name. 

"  Gratian,  Gra — tian,"  in  a  very  soft  inquiring 
tone  ;  "  ye — es,  he  is  a  good  boy  on  the  whole,  but 
he  is  foolish  too.  He  is  wasting  his  time." 

"Sadly  so  —  sad — ly  so — o,"  hummed  back  the 
second  voice.  "  He  only  dreams  —  dreams  are  very 
well  in  their  way,  they  are  a  beginning  sometimes, 
so — me — ti — imes.  But  he  will  never  do  any- 
thing even  with  his  dreams  unless  he  works  too — 
AVO — orks  too." 

"  Ah  no  —  no — o.  All  must  work  save  the  will-o'- 
the-wisps,  and  what  good  are  they  ?  What  good  are 
the— ey?" 

Then  the  two,  or  the  three,  maybe  even  the  four, 
Gratian  could  not  be  sure  but  that  there  were  perhaps 
four,  voices  seemed  all  to  hum  together,  "  What  good 


10  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

are  the — ey?"  Till  with  a  sudden  rushing  call  one 
broke  in  with  a  new  cry. 

"  Sisters,"  it  said,  "  we  must  be  off.  Our  work 
awai — aits  us,  awai — aits  us." 

And  softly  they  all  faded  away,  or  was  it  perhaps 
that  Gratian  fell  asleep  ? 

He  woke  the  next  morning  with  a  confused  re- 
membrance of  what  he  had  heard,  and  for  some 
little  time  he  could  not  distinguish  how  much  he  had 
dreamt  from  what  had  reached  his  ears  before  he  fell 
asleep.  For  all  through  the  night  a  vague  feeling 
had  haunted  him  of  the  soft,  humming  murmur,  and 
two  or  three  times  when  he  half  woke  and  turned  on 
his  side,  he  seemed  to  hear  again  the  last  echoes  of 
the'  voices  in  the  chimney. 

"But  it  couldn't  have  been  them,"  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  sat  up  in  his  little  bed,  his  hands  clasped 
round  his  knees,  as  he  was  very  fond  of  sitting ; 
"  They  said  they  were  going  away  to  their  work. 
What  work  could  they  have  —  voices,  just  voices  in 
the  chimney  ?  And  they  said  I  was  wasting  my 
time.  What  did  they  mean?  Tm  not  like  a  will-o'- 
the-wisp  ;  I  don't  dance  about  and  lead  people  into 
bogs.  I  —  " 

But  just  then  his  mother's  voice  sounded  up  the 
stairs. 

"  Gratian  —  aren't  you  up  yet?  Father  is  out,  and 
the  breakfast  will  be  ready  in  ten  minutes.  Quick, 
quick,  my  boy." 


THE    VOICES   IN   THE   CHIMNEY.  11 

Gratian  started ;  he  put  one  pink  foot  out  of  bed 
and  looked  at  it  as  if  he  had  never  seen  five  toes 
before,  then  he  put  out  the  other,  and  at  last  found 
himself  altogether  on  the  floor.  It  was  rather  a  chilly 
morning,  and  he  was  only  allowed  cold  water  in  a 
queer  old  tub  that  he  could  remember  being  dread- 
fully afraid  of  when  he  was  a  very  little  boy  —  it  had 
seemed  so  big  to  him  then.  But  he  was  not  so 
babyish  now ;  he  plunged  bravely  into  the  old  tub, 
and  the  shock  of  the  cold  completely  awakened  him, 
so  that  he  looked  quite  bright  and  rosy  when  he 
came  into  the  kitchen  a  few  minutes  later. 

His  mother  looked  up  from  the  pot  of  oatmeal 
porridge  she  was  ladling  out  into  little  bowls  for 
the  breakfast. 

"  That's  right,"  she  said  ;  "  you  look  better  than 
you  did  last  night.  Try  and  have  a  good  day  at 
school  to-day,  Gratian.  Monday's  always  the  best 
day  for  a  fresh  start." 

Gratian  listened,  but  did  not  answer.  It  generally 
took  him  a  good  while  to  get  his  speeches  ready, 
except  perhaps  when  he  was  alone  with  Jonas  and 
Watch.  It  seemed  easier  to  him  to  speak  to  Jbnas 
than  to  anybody  else.  He  began  eating  his  porridge 
—  slowly,  porridge  and  milk  spoonfuls  turn  about, 
staring  before  him  as  he  did  so. 

"Mother,"  he  said  at  last,  "  is  it  naughty  to  dream?" 

"  Naughty  to  dream,"  repeated  his  mother,  "  what 
do  you  mean  ?  To  dream  when  you're  asleep  ?  " 


12  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

"No  —  I  don't  think  it's  that  kind,"  began  the 
child,  but  his  mother  interrupted  him.  Her  own 
words  of  the  night  before  returned  to  her  mind. 
Could  Gratian  have  overheard  them  ? 

"  You  mean  dreaming  when  you  should  be  work- 
ing, perhaps  ?  "  she  said.  "  Well,  yes  —  without  say- 
ing it's  naughty,  it's  certainly  not  good.  It's  wasting 
one's  time.  Everybody's  got  work  to  do  in  this 
world,  and  it  needs  all  one's  attention.  You'll  find 
it  out  for  yourself,  but  it's  a  good  thing  to  find  it  out 
young.  Most  things  are  harder  to  learn  old  than 
young,  Gratian." 

Gratian  listened,  but  again  without  speaking. 

"  It's  very  queer,"  he  was  thinking  to  himself  - 
"  mother  says  the  same  thing." 


CHAPTER    II. 

AT   SCHOOL. 

' '  But  there  all  apart, 

On  his  little  seat 
A  little  figure  is  set  awry." 

C.  C.  ERASER  TYTLER. 

GRATIAN  shouldered  his  satchel  and  set  off  to 
school.  He  had  some  new  thoughts  in  his  head  this 
morning,  but  still  he  was  not  too  busy  with  them  to 
forget  to  look  about  him.  It  was  evident  that  old 
Jonas  had  been  right ;  the  storm  spirits  had  been 
about  in  the  night.  The  fallen  autumn  leaves  which 
had  been  lying  in  heaps  the  day  before  were  scattered 
everywhere,  the  little  pools  of  water  left  by  yester- 
day's rain  had  almost  disappeared,  overhead  the 
clouds  were  gradually  settling  down  in  quiet  masses 
as  if  tired  and  sleepy  with  the  rushing  about  of  the 
night  before. 

It  was  always  fresh  up  at  Four  Winds  Farm,  but 
to-day  there  was  a  particularly  brisk  and  inspiriting 
feeling  in  the  air ;  and  as  Gratian  ran  down  the  bit 
of  steep  hill  between  the  gate  and  the  road  which  he 
partially  followed  to  school,  he  laughed  to  himself  as 
a  little  wind  came  kissing  him  on  the  cheek. 

"  Good-morning,  wind,"  he  said  aloud.  "  Which 
13 


14  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

of  them  are  you,  I  wonder  ?  "  And  some  old  verses 
he  had  often  heard  his  mother  say  came  into  his 
head  — 

"  North  winds  send  hail, 

South  winds  bring  rain, 
East  winds  we  bewail, 
West  winds  blow  amain." 

"I  think  you  must  be  west  wind,  but  you're  not 
blowing  amain  this  morning.  Never  mind ;  you  can 
when  you  like,  I  know.  You  can  work  with  a  will. 
There  now  —  how  funny  —  I'm  saying  it  myself ; 
I  wonder  if  that's  what  the  voices  meant  I  should 
do  —  work  with  a  will,  work  with  a  will,"  and 
Gratian  sang  the  words  over  softly  to  himself  as  he 
ran  along. 

As  I  said,  his  road  to  school  was  a  great  part  of 
the  way  nothing  but  a  sheep-track.  It  was  not  that 
there  did  not  exist  a  proper  road,  but  this  proper 
road,  naturally  enough,  went  winding  about  a  good 
deal,  for  it  was  meant  for  carts  and  horses  as  well  as 
or  more  than  for  little  boys,  and  no  carts  or  horses 
could  ever  have  got  along  it  had  the  road  run  in  a 
direct  line  from  the  Farm  to  the  village.  For  the 
village  lay  low  and  the  Farm  very  high.  Gratian 
followed  the  road  for  the  first  half-mile  or  so,  that  is 
to  say  as  long  as  he  could  have  gained  nothing  by 
quitting  it,  but  then  came  a  corner  at  which  he  left 
it  to  meander  gradually  down  the  high  ground,  while 
he  scrambled  over  a  low  wall  of  loose  stones  and 


AT   SCHOOL.  15 

found  himself  on  what  he  always  considered  his  own 
particular  path.  At  this  point  began  the  enjoyment 
of  his  walk,  for  a  few  minutes  carried  him  round  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  out  of  sight  of  the  road  and  of 
everything  save  the  sky  above  and  the  great  stretch- 
ing moorland  beneath.  And  this  was  what  Gratian 
loved.  He  used  to  throw  himself  on  the  short  tufty 
grass,  his  elbows  on  the  ground,  and  his  chin  in  his 
hands  —  his  satchel  wherever  it  liked,  and  lie  there 
gazing  and  dreaming  and  wishing  he  could  stay  thus 
always. 

He  did  the  same  thing  this  morning,  but  somehow 
his  dreams  were  not  quite  so  undisturbed.  He  was 
no  longer  sure  that  he  would  like  to  lie  there  always 
doing  nothing  but  dreaming,  and  now  that  he  had 
got  this  idea  into  his  head  everything  about  him 
seemed  to  be  repeating  it.  He  looked  at  the  heather, 
faded  and  dull  now,  and  remembered  how,  a  while 
ago,  the  bees  had  been  hard  at  work  on  the  moors 
gathering  their  stores.  "  What  a  lot  of  trouble  it 
must  be  to  make  honey ! "  he  thought.  He  felt  his 
own  little  rough  coat,  and  smiled  to  think  that  not  so 
very  long  ago  it  had  been  walking  about  the  hills  on 
a  different  back.  "  It  isn't  much  trouble  for  the 
sheep  to  let  their  wool  grow,  certainly,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "but  it's  a  lot  of  work  for  lots  of  people 
before  wool  is  turned  into  a  coat  for  a  little  boy. 
Nothing  can  be  done  without  work,  I  suppose,  and 
I'd  rather  be  a  bee  than  a  sheep  a  good  deal,  though 


16  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

I'd  rather  be  old  Watch  than  either,  and  he  works 
hard  —  yes,  he  certainly  does." 

And  then  suddenly  he  remembered  that  if  he 
didn't  bestir  himself  he  would  be  late  at  school, 
which  wouldn't  be  at  all  the  good  start  his  mother 
had  advised  him  to  make  as  it  was  Monday  morning. 

He  went  on  pretty  steadily  for  the  rest  of  the  way, 
only  stopping  about  six  times,  and  that  not  for  long 
together,  otherwise  he  certainly  would  not  have  got 
to  school  before  morning  lessons  were  over.  But,  as 
it  was,  he  got  an  approving  nod  from  the  teacher  for 
being  in  very  good  time.  For  the  teacher  could  not 
help  liking  Gratian,  though,  as  a  pupil,  he  gave  him 
plenty  of  trouble,  seeming  really  sometimes  as  if  h^ 
could  not  learn. 

"  And  yet,"  thought  the  master  —  for  he  was  a 
young  man  who  did  think  —  "  one  cannot  look  into 
the  child's  face  without  seeing  there  are  brains 
behind  it,  and  brains  of  no  common  kind  maybe. 
But  I  haven't  got  the  knack  of  making  him  use 
them ;  for  nine  years  old  he  is  exceedingly  stupid." 

Things  went  bettter  to-day.  Gratian  was  full  of 
his  new  ideas  and  really  meant  to  try.  But  even 
trying  with  all  one's  might  and  main  won't  build 
Rome  in  a  day.  Gratian  had  idled  and  dreamed 
through  lesson-time  too  often  to  lose  the  bad  habit 
all  at  once.  He  saw  himself  passed  as  usual  by 
children  younger  than  he,  who  had  been  a  much 
shorter  time  at  school,  and  his  face  grew  very  mel- 


AT   SCHOOL.  17 

ancholy,  and  two  or  three  big  tears  gathered  more 
than  once  in  his  eyes  while  he  began  to  say  in  his 
own  mind  that  trying  was  no  good. 

Morning  school  was  over  at  twelve ;  most  of  the 
children  lived  in  the  village,  and  some  but  a  short 
way  off,  so  that  they  could  easily  run  home  for  their 
dinner  and  be  back  in  time  for  afternoon  lessons ; 
Gratian  Conyfer  was  the  only  one  whose  home  was 
too  far  off  for  him  to  go  back  in  the  middle  of  the 
day.  So  he  brought  his  dinner  with  him  and  ate  it 
in  winter  beside  the  schoolroom  fire,  in  summer  in  a 
corner  of  the  playground,  where,  under  a  tree,  stood 
an  old  bench.  This  was  the  dining-room  he  liked 
best,  and  though  now  summer  was  past  and  autumn 
indeed  fast  fading  into  winter,  Gratian  had  not  yet 
deserted  his  summer  quarters,  and  here  the  school- 
master found  him  half  an  hour  or  so  before  it  was 
time  for  the  children's  return. 

"  Are  you  not  cold  there,  my  boy  ? "  he  asked 
kindly. 

"  No,  thank  you,  sir,"  Gratian  answered,  and  look- 
ing more  closely  at  him  the  master  saw  he  had  been 
crying. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Gratian  ? "  he  asked. 
"  You've  not  been  quarrelling  or  fighting  I'm  sure, 
you  never  do,  and  as  for  lessons  they  went  a  bit 
better  to-day,  I  think,  didn't  they?" 

But  at  these  words  Gratian  only  turned  his  face 
to  the  wall  and  wept  —  wiping  his  eyes  from  time  to 


18  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

time  on  the  cuff  of  the  linen  blouse  which  he  wore 
at  school  over  his  coat. 

The  schoolmaster's  heart  was  touched,  though  he 
was  pretty  well  used  to  tears.  But  Gratian's  seemed 
different  somehow. 

"  What  is  it,  my  boy  ?  "  he  said  again. 

"  It's  —  it's  just  that,  sir  —  lessons,  I  mean.  I  did 
try,  sir.  I  meant  to  work  with  a  will,  I  did  indeed." 

"  But  you  did  do  better.  I  knew  you  were  trying," 
said  the  teacher  quietly. 

Gratian  lifted  his  tear-stained  face  and  looked  at 
the  master  in  surprise. 

"  Did  you,  sir  ?  "  he  said.  "  It  seemed  to  me  to  go 
worser  and  worser." 

"  No,  I  didn't  think  so.  And  sometimes,  Gratian, 
when  we  think  we  are  doing  worse,  it  shows  we  are 
really  doing  better.  We're  getting  up  a  little  higher, 
you  see,  and  beginning  to  look  on  and  to  see  how  far 
we  have  to  go,  and  that  we  might  have  got  on  faster. 
When  we're  not  climbing  at  all,  but  just  staying  lazily 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  we  don't  know  anything  about 
how  steep  and  high  it  is." 

Gratian  had  quite  left  off  crying  by  now  and  was 
listening  attentively.  The  master's  words  needed  no 
explanation  to  him;  he  had  caught  the  sense  and 
meaning  at  once. 

"  Everybody  has  to  work  if  they're  to  do  any  good, 
haven't  they,  sir?  "  he  asked. 

"Everybody"  agreed  the  master. 


AT   SCHOOL.  19 

"  But  wouldn't  it  be  better  if  everybody  liked  their 
work  —  couldn't  they  do  it  better  if  they  did  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  That's  what  I'm  vexed  about,  partly.  I 
don't  like  lessons,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  deep 
conviction.  "  I'm  afraid  I'm  too  stupid  ever  to  like 
them." 

The  schoolmaster  could  scarcely  keep  from  smiling. 

"  You're  not  so  very  old  yet,  Gratian,"  he  said. 
"  It's  just  possible  you  may  change.  Besides,  in 
some  ways  the  beginning's  the  worst.  You  can't 
read  very  easily  yet  —  not  well  enough  to  enjoy 
reading  to  yourself?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  hanging  his  head  again. 

"Well,  then,  wait  a  while  and  see  if  you  don't 
change  about  books  and  lessons." 

"  And  if  I  don't  ever  change,"  said  Gratian  ear- 
nestly. "  Can  people  ever  do  things  well  that  they 
don't  like  doing  ?  " 

The  schoolmaster  looked  at  him.  It  was  a  curious 
question  for  a  boy  of  nine  years  old. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  so,  indeed,"  and  his  mind 
went  back  to  a  time  when  he  had  looked  forward  to 
being  something  very  different  from  a  village  school- 
master, when  he  could  have  fancied  no  employment 
could  be  less  to  his  liking  than  teaching.  "  I  hope 
so,  indeed,"  he  repeated.  "  And  if  you  work  with  a 
will  you  —  get  to  like  the  work  whatever  it  is." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  and  the  master 
turned  away.  Then  a  thought  struck  him. 


20  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

"  What  do  you  best  like  doing,  Gratian  ?  " 

The  boy  hesitated.     Then  he  grew  a  little  red. 

"It  isn't  doing  anything  really,"  he  said;  "it's 
what  mother  calls  dreaming — out  on  the  moors,  sir, 
that's  the  best  of  all  —  with  the  wind  all  about,  and 
nothing  but  it  and  the  moor  and  the  sky.  And  the 
feel  of  it  keeps  in  me.  Even  when  I'm  at  home  in 
the  kitchen  by  the  fire,  if  I  shut  my  eyes  I  can  fancy 
it." 

The  master  nodded  his  head. 

"  Dreaming  is  no  harm  in  its  right  place.  But  if 
one  did  nothing  but  dream,  the  dreams  would  lose 
their  colour,  I  expect." 

"  That's  something  like  what  they  said,  again," 
thought  the  boy  to  himself. 

The  schoolmaster  walked  away.  "A  child  with 
something  uncommon  about  him,  I  fancy,"  he  said  in 
his  mind.  "  One  sees  that  sometimes  in  a  child  living 
as  much  alone  with  nature  as  he  does.  But  I  scarcely 
think  he's  clever,  and  then  the  rough  daily  life  will 
most  likely  nip  in  the  bud  any  sort  of  poetry  or  imag- 
ination that  there  may  be  germs  of." 

He  didn't  quite  understand  Gratian,  and  then,  too, 
he  didn't  take  into  account  what  it  is  to  be  born  under 
the  protection  of  the  four  winds  of  heaven. 

But  Gratian  felt  much  happier  after  his  talk  with 
the  master,  and  afternoon  lessons  went  better.  They 
were  generally  easier  than  the  morning  ones,  and 
often  more  interesting.  This  afternoon  it  was  a 


AT   SCHOOL.  21 

geography  lesson.  The  master  drew  out  the  great 
frame  with  the  big  maps  hanging  on  it,  and  ex- 
plained to  the  children  as  he  went  along.  It  was 
about  the  north  to-day,  far  away  up  in  the  north, 
where  the  ice-fields  spread  for  hundreds  of  miles  and 
everything  is  in  a  sleep  of  whiteness  and  silence. 
And  Gratian  listened  with  parted  lips  and  earnest 
eyes.  He  seemed  to  see  it  all.  "I  wish  I  knew  as 
much  as  he  does,"  he  thought.  "  I  wish  I  could  read 
it  in  books  to  myself." 

And  for  the  first  time  there  came  home  to  him 
a  faint,  shadowy  feeling  of  what  books  are  —  of  the 
treasures  buried  in  the  rows  and  rows  of  little  black 
letters  that  he  so  often  wished  had  never  been 
invented. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I'll  try  to  learn  so  that 
I  can  read  it  all  to  myself." 

It  was  growing  already  a  little  dusk  when  he  set 
off  on  his  walk  home.  The  evenings  were  beginning 
"  to  draw  in  "  as  the  country  folk  say. 

But  little  cared  the  merry  throng  who  poured  out 
of  the  schoolroom  gate  as  five  o'clock  rang  from  the 
church  clock,  clattering,  racing,  tumbling  over  each 
other,  pushing,  pulling,  shouting,  but  all  in  play. 
For  they  are  a  good-natured  set,  though  rough  and 
ready  —  these*hardy  moor  children.  And  they  grow 
into  honest  and  sturdy  men  and  women,  hospitable 
and  kindly,  active  and  thrifty,  though  they  care  for 
little  beyond  their  own  corner  of  the  world,  and 


22  FOUR   WINDS    FARM. 

would  scarcely  find  it  out  if  all  the  books  and  "learn- 
ing "  in  existence  were  suddenly  made  an  end  of. 

There  are  mischievous  imps  among  them,  neverthe- 
less, and  none  was  more  so  than  Tony,  the  miller's 
son.  He  meant  no  harm,  bat  he  loved  teasing,  and 
Gratian,  gentle  and  silent,  was  often  a  tempting 
victim.  This  evening,  as  sometimes  happened,  a 
dozen  or  so  of  the  children  whose  homes  lay  at  the 
end  of  the  village,  past  which  was  the  road  to  the 
Farm,  went  on  together. 

"  We'll  run  a  bit  of  the  road  home  with  thee, 
Gratian,"  said  Tony. 

And  though  the  boy  did  not  much  care  for  their 
company,  he  thought  it  would  be  unfriendly  to  say 
so,  nor  did  he  like  to  refuse  when  Tony  insisted  on 
carrying  his  satchel  for  him.  "  There's  no  books  in 
mine,"  he  said ;  "I  took  them  home  at  dinner-time, 
and  I'm  sure  your  shoulders  will  be  aching  before 
you  get  to  the  Farm  with  the  weight  of  yours.  My 
goodness,  how  many  books  have  you  got  in  it?  I 
say,"  as  he  pretended  to  examine  them,  "  here's 
Gratian  Conyfer  going  to  be  head  o'  the  school,  and 
put  us  all  to  shame  with  his  learning." 

But  as  Gratian  said  nothing  he  seemed  satisfied, 
and  after  stopping  a  minute  or  two  to  arrange  the 
satchel  again,  ran  after  the  others. 

"It's  getting  dark,  Tony,"  said  his  sister  Dolly, 
"we  mustn't  go  farther.  Good-night,  Gratian, 
we've  brought  you  a  bit  of  your  way  —  Tony,  and 


AT   SCHOOL.  23 

Ralph,  and  I,"  for  the  other  children  had  gradually 
fallen  off. 

"  Yes  —  a  good  mile  of  it,  thank  you,  Dolly.     And 
thank  you,  Tony,  for  helping  me  with  my  satchel  - 
that's  right,  thank  you,"  as  Tony  was  officiously  fast- 
ening it  on. 

44  Good-night,"  said  Tony  ;  "  you're  no  coward  any- 
way, Gratian.  I  shouldn't  like  to  have  all  that  way 
to  go  in  the  dark,  for  it  will  be  dark  soon.  There 
are  queer  things  to  be  seen  on  the  moor  after  sunset, 
folks  say." 

"  Ay,  so  they  say,"  said  Ralph. 

"I'll  be  home  in  no  time,"  Gratian  called  back. 
For  he  did  not  know  what  fear  was. 

But  after  he  had  ran  awhile,  he  felt  more  tired 
than  usual.  Was  it  perhaps  the  fit  of  crying  he  had 
had  at  dinner-time  that  made  him  so  weary?  He 
plodded  on,  however,  shifting  his  satchel  from  time 
to  time,  it  felt  so  strangely  heavy,  and  queer  tales  he 
had  heard  of  the  little  mountain  man  that  would 
jump  on  your  shoulders,  and  cling  on  till  he  had 
strangled  you,  unless  you  remembered  the  right  spell 
to  force  him  off  with ;  or  of  the  brownies  who  catch 
children  with  invisible  ropes,  and  make  them  run 
round  and  round  without  their  knowing  they  have 
left  the  straight  road  till  they  drop  with  fatigue, 
came  into  his  mind. 

"  There  must  be  something  wrong  with  my  satchel," 
he  said  at  last,  and  he  pulled  it  round  so  that  he 


24  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

could  open  it.  He  drew  his  hand  out  with  a  cry  of 
vexation  and  distress.  Tony,  yes  it  must  have  been 
Tony  —  though  at  first  he  was  half-inclined  to  think 
the  mountain  men  or  the  brownies  had  been  playing 
their  tricks  on  him  —  Tony  had  filled  the  satchel  with 
heavy  stones,  and  had  no  doubt  taken  out  the  books 
at  the  time  he  was  pretending  to  examine  them. 
It  was  too  bad.  And  what  had  he  done  with  the 
books  ? 

"  He  may  have  taken  them  home  with  him,  he  may 
have  hidden  them  and  get  them  as  he  passses  by,  or 
he  may  have  left  them  on  the  moor,  and  if  it  rains 
they'll  be  spoilt,  and  the  copy-books  are  sure  to  blow 
away." 

For  in  his  new  ardour,  Gratian  had  brought  home 
books  of  all  kinds,  meaning  to  work  so  well  that  his 
master  should  be  quite  astonished  the  next  day,  and 
the  poor  little  fellow  sat  down  on  the  heather,  his 
arms  and  shoulders  aching  and  sore,  and  let  the  tears 
roll  down  his  face. 

Suddenly  a  slight  sound,  something  between  a 
murmur  and  a  rustle,  some  little  way  from  him, 
made  him  look  round.  It  was  an  unusually  still 
evening ;  Gratian  had  scarcely  ever  known  the  moor- 
land road  so  still  —  it  could  not  be  the  wind  then ! 
He  looked  round  him  curiously,  and  for  a  moment  or 
two  forgot  his  troubles  in  his  wonder  as  to  what  it 
could  be.  There  it  was  again,  and  the  boy  started  to 
his  feet. 


CHAPTER   III. 

FLYING   VISITS. 

"  I  see  thee  not,  I  clasp  thee  not ; 
Yet  feel  I  thou  art  nigh." 

To  the  Summer  Wind.  —  SIR  NOEL  PATON. 

YES  —  he  heard  it  again,  and  this  time  it  sounded 
almost  like  voices  speaking.  He  turned  to  the  side 
whence  it  came,  and  to  his  surprise,  in  the  all  but 
darkness,  there  glimmered  for  an  instant  or  two  a 
sudden  light.  It  was  scarcely  indeed  to  be  called 
light ;  it  was  more  like  the  reflection  of  faint  colour 
on  the  dark  background. 

"  It  is  like  a  black  rainbow,"  said  Gratian  to  him- 
self. "  I  wonder  if  there  are  some  sorts  of  rainbows 
that  come  in  the  night.  I  wonder—  '  but  suddenly 
a  waft  of  soft  though  fresh  air  on  his  cheek  made 
him  start.  All  around  him,  but  an  instant  before, 
had  been  so  still  that  he  could  not  understand  it,  and 
his  surprise  was  not  lessened  when  a  voice  sounded 
close  to  his  ear. 

"  What  about  your  books,  Gratian  ?  How  are  you 
going  to  find  them  ?  " 

The  boy  turned  to  look  who  was  speaking.  His 
first  thought  was  that  one  of  his  companions,  know- 

25 


26  FOUR   WINDS    FARM. 

ing  of  the  trick  Tony  had  played  him,  had  run  after 
him  with  the  books.  But  the  figure  beside  him  was 
not  that  of  one  of  his  companions  —  was  it  that  of 
any  one  at  all  ?  Gratian  rubbed  his  eyes ;  the  faint 
light  that  remained,  —  the  last  rays  of  reflected  sun- 
set —  were  more  bewildering  than  decided  night ; 
was  it  fancy  that  he  had  heard  a  voice  speaking? 
was  it  fancy  that  he  had  seen  a  waving,  fluttering 
form  beside  him  ? 

No,  there  it  was  again;  softly  moving  garments, 
with  something  of  a  green  radiance  on  them,  a  sweet, 
fair  face,  like  a  face  in  a  dream,  seen  but  for  an 
instant  and  then  hidden  again  by  a  wave  of  mist 
that  seemed  to  come  between  it  and  him,  a  gentle 
yet  cheery  voice  repeating  again  — 

"  What  of  the  books,  Gratian  ?  How  are  you 
going  to  find  them  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  boy.  "Who  are  you? 
How  do  you  know  about  them,  and  can  you  help  me 
to  find  them?" 

But  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  rough  and  sharp, 
and  yet  thick  it  somehow  seemed,  in  comparison 
with  the  soft  clearness  of  the  tones  he  had  just 
heard,  fell  on  his  ears  strangely.  It  seemed  to 
awake  him. 

"Am  I  dreaming?"  he  said  to  himself.  "There 
is  no  one  there.  How  silly  of  me  to  speak  to  nobody  ! 
I  might  as  well  be  speaking  to  the  wind !  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  voice,  followed  this  time  by 


WAS  IT  FANCY  THAT  HE  HAD  SEEN  A  WAVING,  FLUTTERING  FORM  BESIDE 
HIM  ?  —  p.  26. 


FLYING   VISITS.  27 

a  little  burst  of  the  sweetest  laughter  Gratian  had 
ever  heard.  "  Come,  Gratian,  don't  be  so  dull ; 
what's  wrong  with  your  eyes  ?  Come,  dear,  if  you 
do  want  to  find  your  books,  that's  to  say.  You  see 
me  now,  don't  you  ?  " 

And  again  the  fresh  waft  passed  across  his  cheeks, 
and  again  the  flutter  of  radiant  green  and  the  fail- 
face  caught  his  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  see  you  now — or  —  or  I  did 
see  you  half  a  second  ago,"  for  even  while  he  said  it 
the  vision  had  seemed  to  fade. 

"That's  right  —  then  come." 

He  was  opening  his  lips  to  ask  how  and  where, 
but  he  had  not  time,  nor  did  he  need  to  do  so.  The 
breeze,  slight  as  it  was,  seemed  to  draw  him  onwards, 
and  the  faint,  quivering  green  light  gleamed  out  from 
moment  to  moment  before  him.  It  was  evident 
which  way  he  was  to  go.  Only  for  an  instant  a 
misgiving  came  over  him  and  he  hesitated. 

"I  say,"  he  called  out,  "you  mustn't  be  offended, 
but  you're  not  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  are  you?  I  don't 
want  to  follow  one  of  them.  They're  no  good." 

Again  the  soft  laughter,  but  it  sounded  kind  and 
pleasant,  not  the  least  mocking. 

"  That's  right.  Never  have  anything  to  say  to 
will-o'-the-wisps,  Gratian.  But  I'm  not  one  —  see — • 
I  keep  on  my  way.  I  don't  dance  and  jerk  from  side 
to  side." 

It  was  true;  it  was  wonderful  how  fast  she  —  if  it 


28  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

were  she,  the  voice  sounded  like  a  woman's  —  got 
over  the  ground  and  Gratian  after  her,  without 
faltering  or  stumbling  or  even  getting  out  of  breath. 

"  Here  we  are,"  she  said,  "  stoop  down,  Gratian  — 
there  are  your  books  hidden  beside  the  furze  bush 
at  your  feet.  And  it  is  going  to  rain ;  they  would 
have  been  quite  spoilt  by  morning  even  if  I  had  done 
my  best.  It  was  an  ugly  trick  of  Master  Tony's. 
There  now,  have  you  got  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Gratian,  fumbling  for  his 
satchel,  still  hanging  round  his  shoulders,  though  to 
his  surprise  empty,  for  he  did  not  remember  having 
thrown  the  stones  out,  "  I  have  got  them  all  now. 
Thank  you  very  much  whoever  you  are.  I  would 
like  to  kiss  you  if  only  I  could  see  you  long  enough 
at  a  time." 

But  a  breath  like  a  butterfly's  kiss  fluttered  on  to 
his  cheek,  and  the  gleam  of  two  soft  bluey-green  eyes 
seemed  for  the  hundredth  part  of  a  second  to  dance 
into  his  own. 

"  I  have  kissed  you,"  said  the  voice,  now  sounding 
farther  away,  "and  not  for  the  first  nor  the  thou- 
sandth time,  if  you  had  known  it!  But  you  are 
waking  up  a  little  now ;  our  baby  boy  is  learning  to 
see  and  to  hear  and  to  feel.  Good-bye  —  good-night, 
Gratian.  Work  your  best  with  your  books  to-night 
—  get  home  as  fast  as  you  can.  By  the  bye  it  is 
late;  shall  I  speed  you  on  your  way?  You  will 
know  how  far  that  is  to-morrow  morning  —  look  for 


FLYING   VISITS.  29 

the  furze  bush  on  the  right  of  the  path  when  it  turns 
for  the  last  time,  and  you  will  see  if  I  don't  know 
how  to  help  you  home  in  no  time." 

And  almost  before  the  last  words  had  faded, 
Gratian  felt  himself  gently  lifted  off  his  feet  —  a 
rush,  a  soft  whiz,  and  he  was  standing  by  the  Farm 
gate,  while  before  him  shone  out  the  warm  ruddy 
glow  from  the  unshuttered  windows  of  the  big 
kitchen,  and  his  mother's  voice,  as  she  heard  the 
latch  click,  called  out  to  him  — 

"  Is  that  you,  Gratian  ?  You  are  very  late  ;  if  it 
had  not  been  such  a  very  still,  beautiful  evening  I 
should  really  have  begun  to  think  you  had  been 
blown  away  coming  over  the  moor." 

And  Gratian  rubbed  his  eyes  as  he  came  blinking 
into  the  kitchen.  His  mother's  words  puzzled  him, 
though  he  knew  she  was  only  joking.  It  was  a  very 
still  night  —  that  was  the  funny  part  of  it. 

"  Why,  you  look  for  all  the  world  as  if  you'd  been 
having  a  nap,  my  boy,"  she  went  on,  and  Gratian 
stood  rubbing  his  hands  before  the  fire,  wondering  if 
perhaps  he  had.  He  was  half-inclined  to  tell  his 
mother  of  Tony's  trick  and  what  had  come  of  it. 
But  she  might  say  he  had  dreamt  it,  and  then  it 
would  seem  ill-natured  to  Tony. 

"And  I  don't  want  mother  and  father  to  think  I'm 
always  dreaming  and  fancying,"  he  thought  to  him- 
self, for  just  at  that  moment  the  farmer's  footsteps 
were  heard  as  he  came  in  to  supper.  "  Anyway  I 


30  FOUR   WINDS    FARM. 

want  them  to  see  I  mean  to  get  on  better  at  school 
than  I  have  done." 

He  did  not  speak  much  at  table,  but  he  tried  to 
help  his  mother  by  passing  to  her  whatever  she 
wanted,  and  jumping  up  to  fetch  anything  missing. 
And  it  was  a  great  pleasure  when  his  father  once  or 
twice  nodded  and  smiled  at  him  approvingly. 

"  He's  getting  to  be  quite  a  handy  lad  —  eh, 
mother?"  he  said. 

As  soon  as  supper  was  over  and  cleared  away, 
Gratian  set  to  work  at  his  lessons  with  a  light  heart. 
It  was  wonderful  how  much  easier  and  more  interest- 
ing they  seemed  now  that  he  really  gave  his  whole 
attention,  and  especially  since  he  had  tried  to  under- 
stand what  the  teacher  had  said  about  them. 

"  If  only  I  had  tried  like  this  before,  how  much 
further  on  I  should  be  now,"  he  could  not  help  say- 
ing to  himself  with  a  sigh.  "  And  the  queer  thing 
is,  that  the  more  I  try  the  more  I  want  to  try.  My 
head  begins  to  feel  so  much  tidier." 

But  with  all  the  good-will  in  the  world,  at  nine 
years  old  a  head  cannot  do  very  much  at  a  time. 
Gratian  had  finished  all  the  lessons  he  had  to  do  for 
the  next  day  and  was  going  back  in  his  books  with 
the  wish  to  learn  over  again,  and  more  thoroughly, 
much  that  he  had  not  before  really  taken  in  or 
understood,  when  to  his  distress  his  poor  little  head 
bumped  down  on  to  the  volume  before  him,  and  he 
found  by  the  start  that  he  was  going  to  sleep !  Still 


FLYING   VISITS.  31 

it  wasn't  very  late — mother  had  said  nothing  yet 
about  bedtime. 

"  It  is  that  I  have  got  into  such  a  stupid,  lazy  way 
of  learning,  I  suppose,"  he  said  to  himself,  getting  up 
from  his  seat.  "  Perhaps  the  air  will  wake  me  up  a 
bit,"  and  he  went  through  the  little  entrance  hall 
and  stood  in  the  porch,  looking  out. 

It  was  a  very  different  night  from  the  last.  All 
was  so  still  and  calm  that  for  once  the  name  of  the 
Farm  did  not  seem  to  suit  it. 

Gratian  leant  against  the  door-post,  looking  up  to 
the  sky,  and  just  then,  like  the  evening  before,  old 
Jonas,  followed  by  Watch,  came  round  the  corner. 

"  Good-evening,  Jonas,"  said  the  boy.  "  How  quiet 
it  is  to-night !  There  wasn't  much  of  a  storm  after 
all." 

"No,  Master  Gratian,"  replied  the  shepherd;  "I 
told  you  they  were  only  a-knocking  about  a  bit  to 
keep  their  hands  in ; "  and  he  too  stood  still  and 
looked  up  at  the  sky. 

"  I  don't  like  it  so  still  as  this,"  said  the  boy.  "  It 
doesn't  seem  right.  I  came  out  here  for  a  breath  of 
air  to  wake  me  up.  I've  been  working  hard  at  my 
lessons,  Jonas ;  I'm  going  always  to  work  hard  now. 
But  I  wish  I  wasn't  sleepy." 

"Sign  that  you've  worked  enough  for  to-night, 
maybe,"  said  Jonas.  But  as  he  spoke,  Gratian 
started. 

"  Jonas,"    he   said,   "  did   you   see  a  sort  of  light 


32  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

down  there  —  across  the  grass  there  in  front,  a  sort 
of  golden-looking  flash  ?  ah,  there  it  is  again,"  and 
just  at  the  same  moment  a  soft,  almost  warm  waft 
of  air  seemed  to  float  across  his  face,  and  Gratian 
fancied  he  heard  the  words,  "  good  boy,  good  boy." 

"  'Tis  a  breath  of  south  wind  getting  up,"  said  old 
Jonas  quietly.  "I've  often  thought  to  myself  that 
there's  colours  in  the  winds,  Master  Gratian,  though 
folk  would  laugh  at  me  for  an  old  silly  if  I  said  so." 

"Colours"  repeated  Gratian,  "do  you  mean  many 
colours  ?  I  wasn't  saying  anything  about  the  wind 
though,  Jonas  —  did  you  feel  it  too  ?  It  was  over 
there  —  look,  Jonas  —  it  seemed  to  come  from  behind 
the  big  bush." 

"  Due  south,  due  south,"  said  Jonas.  "  And 
golden  yellow  is  my  fancy  for  the  south." 

"  And  what  for  the  north,  and  for  the  —  "  began 
Gratian  eagerly,  but  his  mother's  voice  interrupted 
him. 

"Bedtime,  Gratian,"  she  called,  "come  and  put 
away  your  books.  You've  done  enough  lessons  for 
to-night." 

Gratian  gave  himself  a  little  shake  of  impatience. 

"  How  tiresome,"  he  said.  "  I  am  quite  awake 
now.  I  want  you  to  go  on  telling  me  about  the 
winds,  Jonas,  and  I  want  to  do  a  lot  more  lessons. 
I  can't  go  to  bed  yet,"  but  even  while  the  words  were 
on  his  lips,  he  started  and  shivered.  "  Jonas,  it  can't 
be  south  wind.  It's  as  cold  as  anything." 


FLYING   VISITS.  33 

For  a  sharp  keen  gust  had  suddenly  come  round 
the  corner,  rasping  the  child's  unprotected  face 
almost  u  like  a  knife  "  as  people  sometimes  say,  and 
Watch,  who  had  been  rubbing  his  nose  against 
Gratian,  gave  a  snort  of  disgust. 

"  You  see  Watch  feels  it  too,"  said  the  boy.  But 
Jonas  only  turned  a  little  and  looked  about  him 
calmly. 

"  I  can't  say  as  I  felt  it,  Master  Gratian,"  he  said. 
"  But  there's  no  answering  for  the  winds  and  their 
freaks  here  at  the  Four  Winds  Farm,  and  it's  but 
natural  you  should  know  more  about  'em  than  most. 
All  the  same,  I  take  it  as  you're  feeling  cold  and 
chilly-like  means  as  bed  is  the  best  place.  You're 
getting  sleepy  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  Missus  calling 
to  ye  to  go." 

And  again  the  mother's  voice  was  heard. 

"  Gratian,  Gratian,  my  boy.     Don't  you  hear  me  ?  " 

He  moved,  but  slowly.  A  little  imp  of  opposition 
had  taken  up  its  abode  in  the  boy.  Perhaps  he  had 
been  feeling  too  pleased  with  his  own  good  resolutions 
and  beginnings  ! 

"  Too  bad,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  just  when  I 
was  getting  to  understand  my  lessons  better.  Old 
Jonas  is  very  stupid." 

Again  the  short,  sharp  cutting  slap  of  cold  air  on 
his  face,  and  in  spite  of  himself  the  boy  moved  more 
quickly. 

"  Good-night,    Jonas,"    he    said    rather    grumpily, 


34  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

though  he  would  not  let  himself  shiver  for  fear  he 
should  again  be  told  it  showed  he  was  sleepy,  "  I'm 
going.  I'm  not  at  all  tired,  but  I'm  going  all  the 
same.  Only  how  can  you  say  it's  south  wind  —  !  " 

"  I  don't  say  so  now.  I  said  it  was  south  —  that 
soft  feeling  as  if  one  could  see  the  glow  of  the  south 
in  it.  Like  enough  it's  east  by  now ;  isn't  this  where 
all  the  winds  meet  ?  Well,  I'm  off  too.  Good-night, 
master." 

"  And  you'll  tell  me  about  all  the  colours  another 
time,  won't  you,  Jonas  ?  "  said  Gratian  in  a  mollified 
tone. 

"  Or  you'll  tell  me,  maybe,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  Never  fear  —  we'll  have  some  good  talks  over  it. 
Out  on  the  moor  some  holiday,  with  nobody  but  the 
sheep  and  Watch  to  hear  our  fancies  —  that's  the 
best  time  —  isn't  it  ?  " 

And  the  old  shepherd  whistled  to  the  dog  and 
disappeared  round  the  corner  of  the  house. 

His  mother  met  Gratian  at  the  kitchen  door. 

"I  was  coming  out  to  look  for  you,"  she  said. 
"Put  away  your  books  now.  You'd  do  no  more 
good  at  them  to-night." 

"I  wasn't  sleepy,  mother.  I  went  to  the  door 
to  wake  myself  up,"  he  replied.  But  his  tone  was 
no  longer  fretful  or  cross. 

"  Feeling  you  needed  waking  up  was  something 
very  like  being  sleepy,"  she  answered  smiling. 
"  And  all  the  lessons  you  have  to  learn  are  not  to  be 
found  in  your  books,  Gratian." 


FLYING   VISITS.  35 

He  did  not  at  once  understand,  but  he  kept  the 
words  in  his  mind  to  think  over. 

"  Good-night,  mother,"  and  he  lifted  his  soft  round 
face  for  her  kiss. 

"  Good-night,  my  boy.  Father  has  gone  out  to 
the  stable  to  speak  to  one  of  the  men.  I'll  say  good- 
night to  him  for  you.  Pleasant  dreams,  and  get  up 
as  early  as  you  like  if  you  want  to  work  more." 

"  Mother,"  said  Gratian  hesitatingly. 

"Well?" 

"Is  it  a  good  thing  to  be  born  where  the  four 
winds  meet  ?  " 

She  laughed. 

"  I  can't  say,"  she  replied.  "  It's  not  done  you 
any  harm  so  far.  But  don't  begin  getting  your  head 
full  of  fancies,  my  boy.  Off  with  you  to  bed,  and 
get  to  sleep  as  fast  as  you  can.  Pleasant  dreams." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  the  child  as  he  went  upstairs, 
"  dreams  are  fancies." 

"  Yes,  but  they  don't  waste  our  time.  There's  no 
harm  in  dreaming  when  we're  asleep  —  we  can't  be 
doing  aught  else  then." 

"  Oh,"  said  Gratian,  "  it's  dreaming  in  the  day 
that  wastes  time  then." 

He  was  turning  the  corner  of  the  stair  as  he  said 
so,  speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  his  mother. 
Just  then  a  little  waft  of  air  came  right  in  his  face. 
It  was  not  the  sharp  touch  that  had  made  him  start 
at  the  door,  nor  was  it  the  soft  warm  breath  which 


36  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

old  Jonas  said  was  the  south  wind.  Rather  did  it 
remind  Gratian  of  the  kindly  breeze  and  the  sea- 
green  glimmerings  on  the  moor.  He  stood  still  for 
an  instant.  Again  it  fluttered  by  him,  and  he  heard 
the  words,  "  Not  always,  Gratian  ;  not  always." 

"  What  was  I  saying  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  "  Ah 
yes  —  that  it  is  dreaming  in  the  day  that  is  a  waste 
of  time  !  And  now  she  says  '  Not  always.'  You  are 
very  puzzling  people  whoever  you  are,"  he  went  on  ; 
"  you  whose  voices  I  hear  in  the  chimney,  and  who 
seem  to  know  all  I  am  thinking  whether  I  say  it  or 
not." 

And  as  he  lifted  his  little  face  towards  the  corner 
whence  the  sudden  draught  had  come,  there  fell  on 
his  ears  the  sound  of  rippling  laughter  —  the  merriest 
and  yet  softest  laughter  he  had  ever  heard,  and  in 
which  several  voices  seemed  to  mingle.  So  near 
it  seemed  at  first  that  he  could  have  fancied  it  came 
from  the  old  granary  on  the  other  side  of  the  wooden 
partition  shutting  off  the  staircase,  but  again,  in  an 
instant,  it  seemed  to  dance  and  flicker  itself  away, 
till  nothing  remained  but  a  faint  ringing  echo,  which 
might  well  be  no  more  than  the  slight  rattle  of  the 
glass  in  the  old  casement  window. 

Then  all  was  silent,  and  the  boy  went  on  to  his 
own  room,  and  was  soon  covered  up  and  fast  asleep 
in  his  little  white  bed. 

There  were  no  voices  in  the  chimney  that  night, 
or  if  there  were  Gratian  did  not  hear  them.  But  he 
had  a  curious  dream. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    EAINBOW    DANCE. 

"Purple  and  azure,  white  and  green  and  golden, 

*  *  *  *  * 

and  they  whirl 
Over  each  other  with  a  thousand  motions." 

Prometheus  Unbound.  —  SHELLEY. 

HE  dreamt  that  he  awoke,  and  found  himself  not 
in  his  comfortable  bed  in  his  own  room,  but  in  an 
equally  comfortable  but  much  more  uncommon  bed 
in  a  very  different  place.  Out  on  the  moor!  He 
opened  his  eyes  and  stared  about  him  in  surprise; 
there  were  the  stars,  up  overhead,  all  blinking  and 
winking  at  him  as  if  asking  what  business  a  little 
boy  had  out  there  among  them  all  in  the  middle  of 
the  night.  And  when  he  did  find  out  where  he  was, 
he  felt  still  more  surprised  at  being  so  warm  and 
cosy.  For  he  felt  perfectly  so,  even  though  he  had 
neither  blankets  nor  sheets  nor  pillow,  but  instead 
of  all  these  a  complete  nest  of  the  softest  moss  all 
about  him.  He  was  lying  on  it,  and  it  covered 
him  over  as  perfectly  as  a  bird  is  covered  by  its 
feathers. 

"  Dear  me,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  this  is  very 
funny.  How  have  I  got  here,  and  who  has  covered 
me  up  like  this  ?  " 

37 


38  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

But  still  he  did  not  feel  so  excessively  surprised 
as  if  he  had  been  awake ;  for  in  dreams,  as  everybody 
knows,  any  surprise  one  feels  quickly  disappears,  and 
one  is  generally  very  ready  to  take  things  as  they 
come.  So  he  lay  still,  just  quietly  gazing  about 
him.  And  gradually  a  murmur  of  approaching  sound 
caught  his  ears.  It  was  like  soft  voices  and  flutter- 
ing garments  and  breezes  among  trees,  all  mixed 
together,  till  as  it  came  nearer  the  voices  detached 
themselves  from  the  other  sounds,  and  he  heard  what 
they  were  saying. 

"  Yes,  he  deserves  a  treat,  poor  child,"  said  one  in 
very  gentle  caressing  tones;  "you  have  teased  him 
enough,  sisters." 

"  Teased  him !  "  exclaimed  another  voice,  and  this 
time  it  seemed  a  familiar  one  to  him  ;  "  I  tease  him ! 
Why,  as  you  well  know,  it  is  my  mission  in  life  to 
comfort  and  console.  I  don't  believe  in  petting  and 
praising  to  the  same  extent  as  you  do,  perhaps  — 
still  you  cannot  say  I  ever  tease.  Laugh  at  him  a 
little  now  and  then,  I  may.  But  that  does  no  harm." 

"I  never  pet  and  praise  except  when  it  is  de- 
served," murmured  the  first  voice  —  and  as  he  heard 
its  soft  tones  a  sort  of  delicious  languor  seemed  to 
creep  over  Gratian  —  "  never.  But  I  beg  your  par- 
don, sister,  if  I  misjudged  you.  You  can  be  rigorous 
sometimes,  you  know,  and  — 

"So  much  the  better  —  so  much  the  better,"  broke 
in  with  clear  cutting  distinctness  another  voice ; 


A   RAINBOW   DANCE.  39 

"  how  would  the  world  go  round  —  that  is  to  say,  how 
would  the  ships  sail  and  the  windmills  turn  —  if  we 
were  all  four  as  sweet  and  silky  as  you,  my  golden- 
winged  sister?  But  it  was  I  who  teased  the  child 
as  you  call  it  —  I  slapped  him  on  the  face  ;  yes,  and 
I  am  ready  to  do  it  again  —  to  sting  him  sharply, 
when  I  think  he  needs  it." 

"Right,  right  —  quite  right,"  said  another  voice, 
not  exactly  sharp  and  clear  like  the  last,  yet  with  a 
resemblance  to  it,  though  deeper  and  sterner  and 
with  a  strange  cold  strength  in  its  accents.  "  You 
are  his  true  friend  in  doing  so.  I  for  my  part  shall 
always  be  ready  to  invigorate  and  support  him  —  to 
brace  him  for  the  battles  he  must  fight.  But  you, 
sister,  have  a  rare  gift  of  correction  and  of  discern- 
ing the  weak  points  which  may  lead  to  defeat  and 
failure.  Yours  is  an  ungrateful  task  truly,  but  you 
are  a  valuable  monitor." 

"  I  must  find  my  satisfaction  in  such  considera- 
tions ;  it  is  plain  I  shall  never  get  any  elsewhere," 
replied  the  former  speaker,  rather  bitterly.  "  What 
horrid  things  are  said  of  me,  to  be  sure !  Every 
ache  and  pain  is  laid  at  my  door  —  I  am  'neither 
good  for  man  nor  beast,'  I  am  told !  and  yet  —  I  am 
not  all  grim  and  gray,  am  I,  sisters  ?  There  is  a 
rosy  glow  in  the  trail  of  my  garments  if  people  were 
not  so  short-sighted  and  colour-blind." 

"  True,  indeed,  as  who  knows  better  than  I,"  said 
the  sweet  mellow  tones  of  the  first  speaker.  "  When 


40  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

you  come  my  way  and  we  dance  together,  sister, 
who  could  be  less  grim  than  you  ?  " 

"  Ah,  indeed,"  said  the  cold,  stern  voice,  but  it 
sounded  less  stern  now,  "  then  her  sharp  and  biting 
words  came  from  neighbourhood  with  me.  Ah  well 
—  I  can  bear  the  reproach." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  the  voice  which  Gratian 
had  recognised,  "for  you  know  in  your  heart,  you 
great  icy  creature,  that  you  love  fun  as  well  as  any 
one.  How  you  do  whirl  and  leap  and  rush  and  tear 
about,  once  your  spirits  really  get  the  better  of  you ! 
And  you  have  such  pretty  playthings — your  snow- 
flakes  and  filigree  and  icicles  —  none  of  us  can  boast 
such  treasures,  not  to  speak  of  your  icebergs  and 
crystal  palaces,  where  you  hide  heaven  knows  what. 
My  poor  waves  and  foam,  though  I  allow  they  are 
pretty  in  their  way,  are  nothing  to  your  possessions." 

"  Never  mind  all  that.  /  don't  grumble,  though  I 
might.  What  can  one  do  with  millions  of  tons  of 
sand  for  a  toy,  I  should  like  to  know?  And  little 
else  comes  in  my  way  that  I  can  play  catch-and-toss 
with !  I  can  waft  my  scents  about,  to  be  sure  —  there 
is  some  pleasure  in  that.  But  now  for  our  dance  — 
our  rainbow  dance,  sisters  —  no  need  to  wake  him 
roughly.  We  need  only  kiss  his  eyelids." 

And  Gratian,  who  had  not  all  this  time,  strange 
to  say,  known  that  his  eyes  were  closed  again,  felt 
across  his  lids  a  breeze  so  fresh  and  sudden  that  he 
naturally  unclosed  them  to  see  whence  it  came.  And 


"Now  FOR  OUR  DANCE  — OUR  RAINBOW  DANCE,  SISTERS— NO  NEED  TO 

WAKE   HIM   ROUGHLY.     "WE   NEED   ONLY  KISS   HIS   EYELIDS." —  p.  40. 


A   RAINBOW   DANCE.  41 

once  open  he  did  not  feel  inclined  to  shut  them  again, 
I  can  assure  you. 

The  sight  before  him  was  so  pretty  —  and  not  the 
sight  only.  For  the  voices  had  melted  into  music  — 
far  off  at  first,  then  by  slow  degrees  coming  nearer ; 
rising,  falling,  swelling,  sinking,  bright  with  rejoicing 
like  the  song  of  the  lark,  then  soft  and  low  as  the 
tones  of  a  mother  hushing  her  baby  to  sleep,  again 
wildly  triumphant  like  a  battle  strain  of  victory,  and 
even  while  you  listened  changing  into  the  mournful, 
solemn  cadence  of  a  dirge,  till  at  last  all  mingled 
into  a  slow,  even  measure  of  stately  harmony,  and 
the  colours  which  had  been  weaving  themselves  in 
the  distance,  like  a  plaited  rainbow  before  the  boy's 
eyes,  took  definite  form  as  they  drew  near  him. 

He  saw  them  then  —  the  four  invisible  sisters ;  he 
saw  them,  and  yet  it  is  hard  to  tell  what  he  saw ! 
They  were  distinct  and  yet  vague,  separate  and  yet 
together.  But  by  degrees  he  distinguished  them 
better.  There  was  his  old  friend  with  the  floating 
sea-green-and-blue  mantle,  and  the  streaming  fair 
hair  and  loving  sad  eyes,  and  next  her  the  sister 
with  the  golden  wings  and  glowing  locks  and  laugh- 
ing rosy  face,  and  then  a  gray  shrouded  nimble 
figure,  which  seemed  everywhere  at  once,  whose 
features  Gratian  could  scarcely  see,  though  a  pair 
of  bright  sparkling  eyes  flashed  out  now  and  then, 
while  sometimes  a  gleam  of  radiant  red  lighted  up 
the  grim  robe.  And  in  and  out  in  the  meshes  of 


42  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

the  dance  glided  the  white  form  of  the  genius  of  the 
north  —  cold  and  stately,  sparkling  as  she  moved, 
though  shaded  now  and  then  by  the  steel-blue  veil 
which  covered  the  dusky  head.  But  as  the  dance 
went  on,  the  music  gradually  grew  faster  and  the 
soft  regular  movements  changed  into  a  quicker 
measure.  In  and  out  the  four  figures  wove  and 
unwove  themselves  together,  and  the  more  quickly 
they  moved  the  more  varied  and  brilliant  grew  the 
colours  which  seemed  a  part  of  them,  so  that  each 
seemed  to  have  all  those  of  the  others  as  well  as  her 
own,  and  Gratian  understood  why  they  had  spoken 
of  the  rainbow  dance.  Golden-wings  glowed  with 
every  other  shade  reflected  on  her  own  rich  back- 
ground, the  sister  from  the  sea  grew  warmer  with 
the  red  and  yellow  that  shone  out  among  the  lapping 
folds  of  her  mantle,  with  its  feather-like  trimming 
of  foam,  the  gray  of  the  East-wind's  garments  grew 
ruddier,  like  the  sky  before  sunrise,  and  the  cold 
white  of  the  icy  North  glimmered  and  gleamed  like 
an  opal.  And  faster  and  faster  they  danced  and 
glided  and  whirled  about,  till  Gratian  felt  as  if  his 
breath  were  going,  and  that  in  another  moment  he 
would  be  carried  away  himself  by  the  rush. 

"  Stop,  stop,"  he  cried  at  last.  "  It  is  beautiful, 
it  is  lovely,  but  my  breath  is  going.  Stop." 

Instantly  the  four  heads  turned  towards  him,  the 
four  pairs  of  wings  sheathed  themselves,  the  eyes, 
laughing  and  gentle,  piercing  and  grave,  seemed  all 


A   RAINBOW   DANCE.  43 

to  be  gazing  at  him  at  once,  and  eight  outstretched 
arms  seemed  as  if  about  to  lift  him  upwards. 

"No  —  no  —  "  he  said,  "I  don't  want  —  I  don't  — 

But  with  the  struggle  to  speak  he  awoke.  He  was 
in  his  own  bed  of  course,  and  by  the  light  he  saw 
that  it  must  be  nearly  time  to  get  up. 

He  stretched  himself  sleepily,  smiling  as  he  did 
so. 

"  What  nice  dreams  I  have  had,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  I  wonder  if  they  come  of  working  well  at 
my  lessons?  They  said  it  was  to  be  a  treat  for  me. 
I  wish  I  could  go  to  sleep  and  dream  it  all  over 
again." 

But  just  then  he  heard  his  mother's  voice  calling 
up  the  stair  to  him. 

uAre  you  up,  Gratian?  You  will  be  late  if  you 
are  not  quick." 

Gratian  gave  himself  a  little  shake  of  impatience 
under  the  bedclothes ;  he  glanced  at  the  window  — 
the  sky  was  gray  and  overcast,  with  every  sign  of  a 
rainy  day  about  it.  He  tucked  himself  up  again, 
even  though  he  knew  it  was  very  foolish  thus  to 
dela}^  the  evil  moment. 

"  It's  too  bad,"  he  thought.  "  I  can  never  do  what 
I  want.  Last  night  I  had  to  go  to  bed  when  I  wanted 
to  sit  up,  and  now  I  have  to  get  up  when  I  do  so  want 
to  stay  in  bed." 

But  just  at  that  moment  a  strange  thing  happened. 
The  little  casement  window  burst  open  with  a  bang, 


44  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

and  a  blast  of  cold  sharp  wind  dashed  into  the  room, 
upsetting  a  chair,  scattering  Gratian's  clothes,  neatly 
laid  together  in  a  little  heap,  and  flinging  itself  on 
the  bed  with  a  whirl,  so  that  the  coverlet  took  to 
playing  antics  in  its  turn,  and  the  blankets  no  doubt 
would  have  followed  its  example  had  Gratian  not 
clutched  at  them.  But  all  his  comfort  was  destroyed 
—  no  possibility  of  feeling  warm  and  snug  with  the 
window  open  and  all  this  uproar  going  on.  Gratian 
sprang  up  in  a  rage,  and  ran  to  the  window.  He 
shut  it  again  easily  enough. 

"  I  can't  think  what  made  it  fly  open,"  he  said  to 
himself ;  "  there  was  no  wind  in  the  night,  and  it 
never  burst  open  before." 

He  stood  shivering  and  undecided.  Now  that 
the  window  was  shut,  bed  looked  very  comfortable 
again. 

"  I'll  just  get  in  for  five  minutes,"  he  said  to  him- 
self ;  "  I'm  so  shivering  cold  with  that  wind,  I  shan't 
get  warm  all  day." 

He  turned  to  the  bed,  but  just  as  one  little  foot 
was  raised  to  get  in,  lo  and  behold,  a  rattle  and  bang, 
and  again  the  window  burst  open !  Gratian  flew 
back,  it  shut  obediently  as  before.  But  he  was  now 
thoroughly  awakened  and  alert.  There  was  no  good 
going  back  to  bed  if  he  was  to  be  blown  out  of  it  in 
this  fashion,  and  Gratian  set  to  to  dress  himself, 
though  in  a  rather  surly  mood,  and  keeping  an  eye 
on  the  rebellious  window  the  while.  But  the  win- 


A   KAINBOW   DANCE.  45 

dow  behaved  quite  well  —  it  showed  no  signs  of 
bursting  open,  it  did  not  even  rattle !  and  Gratian 
was  ready  in  good  time  after  all. 

"  You  look  cold,  my  boy,"  said  his  mother,  when 
he  was  seated  at  table  and  eating  his  breakfast. 

"  The  wind  blew  my  window  open  twice,  and 
it  made  my  room  very  cold,"  he  replied  rather  dole- 
fully. 

"Blew  your  window  open?  That's  strange,"  said 
his  father.  "  The  wind's  not  in  the  east  this  morn- 
ing, and  it's  only  an  east  wind  that  could  burst  in 
your  window.  You  can't  have  shut  it  properly." 

"  Yes,  father,  I  did  —  the  first  time  I  shut  it  just 
as  well  as  the  second,  and  it  didn't  blow  open  after 
the  second  time.  But  I  know  I  shut  it  well  both 
times.  I  think  it  must  be  in  the  east,  for  it  felt  so 
sharp  when  it  blew  in." 

"  It  must  have  changed  quickly  then,"  said  the 
farmer,  eyeing  the  sky  through  the  large  old-fash- 
ioned kitchen  window  in  front  of  him.  "  That's  the 
queer  thing  hereabouts  ;  many  a  day  if  I  was  put  to 
it  to  answer,  I  couldn't  say  which  way  the  wind  was 
blowing." 

"  Or  which  way  it  wasn't  blowing,  would  be  more 
like  it,"  said  Mrs.  Conyfer  with  a  smile.  "It's  to 
be  hoped  it'll  blow  you  the  right  way  to  school  any- 
way, Gratian.  You  don't  look  sure  of  it  this  morn- 
ing!" 

"  I'm  cold,  mother,  and  I've  always  got  to  do  what 


46  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

I  don't  want.  Last  night  I  didn't  want  to  go  to  bed, 
and  this  morning  I  didn't  want  to  get  up,  and  now  I 
don't  want  to  go  to  school,  and  I  must." 

He  got  up  slowly  and  unwillingly  and  began  put- 
ting his  books  together.  His  mother  looked  at  him 
with  a  slight  smile  on  her  face. 

"  '  Must'  's  a  grand  word,  Gratian,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  know  what  we'd  be  without  it.  You'll  feel  all 
right  once  you're  scampering  across  the  moor." 

"Maybe,"  he  replied.  But  his  tone  was  rather 
plaintive  still.  He  was  feeling  "  sorry  for  himself  " 
this  morning. 

Things  in  general,  however,  did  seem  brighter,  as 
his  mother  had  prophesied  they  would,  when  he 
found  himself  outside.  It  was  really  not  cold  after 
all ;  it  was  one  of  those  breezy  yet  not  chilly  morn- 
ings when,  though  there  is  nothing  depressing  in  the 
air,  there  is  a  curious  feeling  of  mystery  —  as  if 
nature  were  holding  secret  discussions,  which  the 
winds  and  the  waves,  the  hills  and  the  clouds,  the 
trees  and  the  birds  even,  know  all  about,  but  which 
we  —  clumsy  creatures  that  we  are  —  are  as  yet  shut 
out  from. 

"  What  is  it  all  about,  I  wonder  ?  "  said  Gratian  to 
himself,  as  he  became  conscious  of  this  feeling  —  an 
autumn  feeling  it  always  is,  I  think.  "Everything 
seems  so  grave.  Arc  they  planning  about  the  winter 
coming,  and  how  the  flowers  and  all  the  tender  little 
plants  are  to  be  taken  care  of  till  it  is  over?  Or  is 


A   KAINBOW    DANCE.  47 

there  going  to  be  a  great  storm  up  in  the  sky  ?  per- 
haps they  are  trying  to  settle  it  without  a  battle,  but 
it  does  look  very  gloomy  up  there." 

For  the  grayness  had  the  threatening  steel-blue 
shade  over  it  which  betokens  disturbance  of  some 
kind.  Still  the  child's  spirits  rose  as  he  ran ;  there 
was  something  reviving  in  the  little  gusts  of  moor- 
land breeze  that  met  him  every  now  and  then,  and  he 
forgot  everything  else  in  the  pleasure  of  the  -quick 
movement  and  the  glow  that  soon  replaced  the  chilly 
feelings  with  which  he  had  set  out. 

He  had  run  a  good  way,  when  something  white, 
or  light-coloured,  fluttering  on  the  ground  some  little 
way  before  him,  caught  his  eye.  And  as  he  drew 
nearer  he  saw  that  it  was  a  book,  or  papers  of  some 
kind,  hooked  on  to  a  low-growing  furze  bush.  Sud- 
denly the  words  of  the  mysterious  figure  of  the  night 
before  returned  to  his  mind  —  "  Look  for  the  furze 
bush  on  the  right  of  the  path  where  it  turns  for  the 
last  time,"  she  had  said. 

Gratian  stopped  short.  Yes  —  there  in  front  of 
him  was  the  landmark  —  the  path  turned  here  for 
the  last  time,  as  she  had  said.  He  looked  about  him 
in  astonishment. 

"  This  was  where  my  books  were  last  night,  then," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  I  had  no  idea  I  had  come  so 
far  !  Why,  I  was  home  in  half  a  second —  it  is  very 
strange  —  I  could  fancy  it  was  a  dream,  or  else  that 
last  night  and  the  rainbow  dance  wasn't  a  dream/' 


48  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

He  ran  on  to  where  the  white  thing  was  still 
fluttering  appealingly,  as  if  begging  him  to  detach  it. 
Poor  white  thing !  It  was  or  had  been  an  exercise- 
book.  At  first  Gratian  fancied  it  must  be  one  of  his 
copy-books,  left  behind  by  mistake  after  his  fairy 
friend  had  given  him  back  the  rest  of  his  books. 
But  as  soon  as  he  took  it  in  his  hands  and  saw  the 
neat,  clear  characters,  he  knew  it  was  not  his,  and  he 
did  not  need  to  look  at  the  signature,  "Anthony 
Ferris,"  to  guess  that  it  belonged  to  the  miller's  son 
—  for  Tony  was  a  clever  boy,  almost  at  the  head  of 
the  school,  and  famed  for  his  very  good  writing. 

"  Ah  ha,"  thought  Gratian  triumphantly,  "  I  have 
you  now,  Master  Tony." 

He  had  recognised  the  book  as  containing  Tony's 
dictation  lessons,  for  here  and  there  were  the  wrongly 
spelt  words  —  not  many  of  them,  for  Tony  was  a 
good  speller  too  —  marked  by  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Tony  must  have  meant  to  take  the  book  home 
to  copy  it  out  clear,  and  correct  the  wrong  spelling," 
thought  Gratian.  And  he  remembered  hearing  the 
teacher  telling  Tony's  class  that  on  the  neatness  with 
which  this  was  done  would  depend  several  important 
good  marks.  "  He'll  not  be  head  of  his  class,  now 
he's  lost  this  book.  Serve  him  right  for  the  trick  he 
played  me,"  said  Gratian  to  himself,  as  he  rolled  up 
the  tattered  book  and  slipped  it  into  his  satchel. 
"  It's  not  so  badly  torn  but  what  he  could  have 
copied  it  out  all  right,  but  it  would  have  been  torn 


A   RAINBOW   DANCE.  49 

to  pieces  by  this  evening,  now  that  the  wind's  getting 
up.  So  it  isn't  my  fault  but  his  own  — nasty  spiteful 
fellow.  Where  would  all  my  poor  books  have  been 
by  now,  thanks  to  him  ?  " 

The  wind  was  getting  up  indeed  —  and  a  cold 
biting  wind  too.  For  just  as  Gratian  was  thus 
thinking,  there  came  down  such  a  gust  as  he  had 
but  seldom  felt  the  force  of.  For  an  instant  he  stag- 
gered and  all  but  fell,  so  unprepared  had  he  been 
for  the  sudden  buffet.  It  took  all  his  strength  and 
agility  to  keep  his  feet  during  the  short  remainder 
of  the  moorland  path,  so  sharp  and  violent  were  the 
blasts.  And  it  was  with  face  and  hands  tingling 
and  smarting  painfully  that  he  entered  the  school- 
room. 


CHAPTER   V. 

GOOD   FOR   EVIL. 

"For  'tis  sweet  to  stammer  one  letter 
Of  the  Eternal's  language  ;  — on  earth  it  is  called  forgiveness  !  " 

The  Children  of  the  LonVs  Supper.  — LONGFELLOW. 

TONY'S  face  was  almost  the  first  thing  he  caught 
sight  of.  It  was  not  late,  but  several  children  were 
already  there,  and  Tony,  contrary  to  his  custom, 
instead  of  playing  outside  till  the  very  last  moment, 
was  in  the  schoolroom  eagerly  searching  for  some- 
thing among  the  slates  and  books  belonging  to  his 
class.  Gratian  understood  the  reason,  and  smiled  to 
himself  inwardly  —  but  had  he  smiled  visibly  I  don't 
think  his  face  would  have  been  improved  by  it. 
Nor  was  there  real  pleasure  or  rejoicing  in  the  feeling 
of  triumph  which  for  a  moment  made  him  forget  his 
smarting  face  and  hands. 

"  How  red  you  look,  Gratian,"  said  Dolly,  Tony's 
sister,  "have  you  been  crying?" 

"  Crying  —  no,  nonsense,  Dolly,"  he  replied  in  a 
tone  such  as  gentle  Gratian  seldom  used.  "  Whose 
face  wouldn't  be  red  with  such  a  horrible  wind  cut- 
ting one  to  pieces." 

"  Wind  !  "  repeated  Dolly,  "I  didn't  feel  any  wind. 

50 


GOOD   FOR   EVIL.  51 

It  must  have  got  up  all  of  a  sudden.  Did  you  get 
home  quickly  last  night  ?  " 

Gratian  looked  at  her.  For  half  an  instant  he 
wondered  if  there  was  any  meaning  in  her  question 
—  had  Dolly  anything  to  do  with  the  trick  that  had 
been  played  him?  But  his  glance  at  her  kindly, 
honest  face  reassured  him.  He  was  going  to  answer 
when  Tony  interrupted  him. 

"  Got  home  quick,"  he  said,  looking  up  with  a 
grin  ;  "  of  course  he  did.  He  was  in  such  a  hurry  to 
get  to  work.  Didn't  you  see  what  a  lot  of  books  he 
took  home  with  him  ?  My  !  your  shoulders  must 
have  ached  before  you  got  to  the  Farm,  Gratian. 
Mine  did,  I  know,  though  'twas  only  a  short  bit  I 
carried  your  satchel." 

"  It  was  pretty  heavy,"  said  Gratian,  unfastening 
it  as  he  spoke,  and  coolly  taking  out  the  books  one 
after  another,  watching  Tony  the  while,  "  but  noth- 
ing to  hurt.  And  I  got  all  my  lessons  done  nicely. 
It  was  kind  of  you,  Tony,  to  help  me  to  carry  my 
satchel." 

Tony  stared  —  with  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  his  sister.  "  You  look 
as  if  you'd  seen  a  ghost,  Tony." 

The  boy  turned  away,  muttering  to  himself. 

"  Tony's  put  out  this  morning,"  said  Dolly  in  a 
low  voice  to  Gratian,  "  and  I  can't  help  being  sorry 
too.  He's  lost  his  exercise-book  that  he  was  to  copy 
out  clear  —  and  the  master  said  it'd  have  to  do  with 
getting  the  prize.  Tony's  in  a  great  taking." 


52  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

"  How  did  he  lose  it  ? "  asked  Gratian  with  a 
rather  queer  feeling,  as  he  wondered  what  Dolly 
would  say  if  she  knew  that  at  that  very  moment  the 
lost  book  was  safely  hidden  away  at  the  bottom  of 
his  satchel,  which  he  took  care  not  to  leave  within 
Tony's  reach. 

"  He  doesn't  know,"  said  Dolly  dolefully.  "  He's 
sure  he  had  it  when  we  left  school  last  night.  We 
were  looking  for  it  all  evening,  and  then  he  thought 
maybe  it'd  be  here  after  all.  But  it  isn't." 

Then  the  bell  rang  for  lessons  to  begin,  and 
Gratian  saw  no  more  of  Tony,  who  was  at  the  other 
side  of  the  schoolroom  in  a  higher  class,  and  though 
Dolly  was  in  the  same  as  himself,  she  was  some 
places  off,  so  that  there  was  no  chance  of  any  talking 
or  whispering. 

Gratian's  lessons  were  well  learnt  and  understood. 
It  was  not  long  before  he  found  himself  higher  in  his 
class  than  he  had  almost  ever  done  before,  and  he 
caught  the  master's  eye  looking  at  him  with  approval, 
and  a  smile  of  encouragement  on  his  face.  Why 
was  it  he  could  not  meet  it  with  a  brightly  answer- 
ing smile  as  he  would  have  done  the  day  before  ? 
Why  did  he  turn  away,  his  cheeks  tingling  again  as 
if  the  wind  had  been  slapping  them,  here  inside  the 
sheltered  schoolroom  ? 

The  master  felt  a  little  disappointed. 

"  He  will  never  do  really  well  if  he  is  so  foolishly 
shy  and  bashful,"  he  said  to  himself,  when  Gratian 


GOOD   FOR   EVIL.  53 

turned  away  as  if  ashamed  to  be  grateful  for  the  few 
kinds  words  the  teacher  said  to  him  at  the  end  of  the 
morning's  lessons  ;  and  the  boy,  in  a  corner  of  the 
playground  by  himself  when  the  other  children  had 
run  home  for  their  dinner,  felt  nearly,  if  not  quite, 
as  unhappy  as  the  day  before. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  should  mind  about  Tony,"  he 
was  thinking  as  he  sat  there.  "  He's  a  naughty, 
unkind  boy,  and  he  deserves  to  be  punished.  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  her  helping  me,  I  wouldn't  have 
known  my  lessons  a  bit  this  morning,  and  the  master 
would  have  thought  I  was  never  going  to  try.  I  just 
hope  Tony  will  lose  his  place  and  the  prize  and 
everything.  Oh,  how  cold  it  is  ! "  for  round  the 
wall,  through  it  indeed,  it  almost  seemed,  came  sneak- 
ing a  sharp  little  gust  of  air,  so  cold,  so  cutting, 
that  Gratian  actually  shivered  and  shook,  and  the 
smarting  in  his  face  began  again.  "  I  feel  cold  even 
in  my  bones,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Just  then  voices  reached  his  ear.  The  door  of 
the  schoolhouse  opened  and  the  master  appeared, 
showing  out  a  lady,  who  had  evidently  come  to 
speak  to  him  about  something.  She  was  a  very 
pleasant-looking  lady,  and  Gratian's  eyes  rested 
with  satisfaction  on  her  pretty  dress  and  graceful 
figure. 

"  Then  you  will  not  forget  about  it  ?  You  will  let 
me  know  in  a  few  days  what  you  think  ?  "  Gratian 
heard  her  say. 


54  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

"  Certainly,  madam,"  replied  the  schoolmaster.  "  I 
have  already  one  or  two  in  my  mind  who,  I  think, 
may  be  suitable.  But  I  should  like  to  think  it  over 
and  to  ask  the  parents'  consent." 

"  Of  course  —  of  course.  Good-bye  then  for  the 
present,  and  thank  you,"  said  the  lady,  and  then  she 
went  out  at  the  little  garden-gate  and  the  school- 
master returned  into  his  house. 

"  I  wonder  what  they  were  talking  about,"  thought 
Gratian.  But  he  soon  forgot  all  about  it  again  —  his 
mind  was  too  full  of  its  own  affairs. 

Tony  looked  vexed  and  unhappy  that  afternoon, 
and  Dolly's  rosy  face  bore  traces  of  tears.  She 
overtook  Gratian  on  his  way  home  in  the  evening, 
and  began  again  talking  about  the  lost  book. 

"  It's  so  vexing  for  Tony,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  said,  "  and 
do  you  know,  Gratian,  it's  even  more  vexing  than  we 
thought.  Did  you  see  a  lady  at  the  school  to-day  ? 
Do  you  know  who  she  was  ?  " 

Gratian  shook  his  head. 

"  She's  the  lady  from  the  Big  House  down  the 
road,  that's  been  shut  up  so  long.  It  isn't  her  house, 
but  she's  the  sister  or  the  cousin  of  the  gentleman  it 
belongs  to,  and  he's  lent  it  to  her  because  the  doctors 
said  the  air  hereabouts  would  be  good  for  her  little 
boy.  He's  ill  someway,  he  can  scarcely  walk.  And 
she  came  to  the  school  to-day  to  ask  master  if  one 
of  the  boys  —  his  best  boy,  she  said  —  might  go  some- 
times to  play  with  her  little  boy  and  read  to  him 


GOOD   FOB    EVIL.  55 

a  little.  And  Tony  was  sure  of  being  the  top  of 
the  class  if  only  he  had  finished  copying  out  those 
exercises  —  he'd  put  right  all  the  faults  the  master 
had  marked,  and  it  only  wanted  copying.  But  now 
he's  no  chance ;  the  other  boys  have  theirs  nearly  done." 

"How  do  you  know  about  what  the  lady  said?" 
Gratian  asked. 

"  The  master  told  mother.  He  met  her  in  the 
village  just  before  afternoon  lessons,  and  asked  her  if 
she'd  let  Tony  go,  if  so  be  as  he  was  head  of  his 
class." 

"And  would  he  like  to  go,  d'ye  think,  Dolly?" 
asked  Gratian. 

"He'd  like  to  be  head  of  his  class,  anyway,"  the 
sister  replied.  "  I  don't  know  as  father  can  let  him 
go,  for  we're  very  busy  at  the  mill,  and  Tony's  big 
enough  to  help  when  he's  not  at  school.  But  he'd 
not  like  to  see  Ben  or  that  conceited  Robert  put  be- 
fore him.  If  it  were  you  now,  Gratian,  I  don't  think 
he'd  mind  so  much." 

Gratian's  heart  beat  fast  at  her  words.  Visions 
of  the  pleasure  of  going  to  see  the  pretty  lady  and 
her  boy,  of  hearing  her  soft  voice  speaking  to  him, 
and  of  seeing  the  inside  of  the  Big  House,  which  had 
always  been  a  subject  of  curiosity  to  the  children  of 
the  village,  rose  temptingly  before  him.  But  they 
soon  faded. 

"  Me  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I'd  have  no  chance  —  even- 
failing  Tony." 


56  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.  "You're  never  a 
naughty  boy,  and  you  can  read  very  nice  when  you 
like.  Master  always  seems  to  think  you  read  next 
best  to  Tony.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  sent  you,  if 
he's  vexed  with  Tony.  And  he  will  be  that,  for  he 
told  him  to  do  out  that  writing  so  very  neatly.  I 
think  it  was  to  be  shown  to  the  gentlemen  that  come 
to  see  the  school  sometimes.  But  I  mustn't  go  any 
farther  with  you,  Gratian.  It'll  be  dark  before  I  get 
home.  I'm  afraid  Tony  must  have  dropped  the  book 
out  here,  and  that  it  blew  away.  Good-night,  Gratian." 

"  Good-night,  Dolly,"  he  replied.  And  then  after 
a  little  hesitation  he  added,  "  I  wish  —  I  wish  Tony 
hadn't  lost  his  book." 

"  Thank  you,  Gratian,"  said  the  little  girl  as  she 
ran  off. 

Gratian  stood  and  looked  after  her  with  a  queer 
mixture  of  feelings.  It  was  true,  as  he  had  said  to 
Dolly,  he  did  wish  Tony  had  not  lost  his  book,  but 
almost  more  he  wished  lie  had  not  found  it.  But 
just  now,  standing  there  in  the  softly  fading  light, 
with  the  evening  breeze  —  no  longer  the  sharp  blast 
of  the  morning  —  gently  fanning  his  cheeks,  looking 
after  little  Dolly  as  she  ran  home,  and  thinking  of 
Tony's  sunburnt  .troubled  face,  the  angry  feelings 
seemed  to  grow  fainter,  till  the  wish  to  see  his 
schoolfellow  punished  for  his  mischievous  trick  died 
away  altogether.  And  once  he  had  got  to  this,  it 
was  a  quick  step  to  still  better  things. 


'LOOK  HERB,  DOLLY,"  AND  HE  HELD  OUT  TO  HER  THE  POOR  COPY-BOOK 
WHICH  HE  HAD  ALREADY  TAKEN  OUT  OF  HIS  SATCHEL.  — p.  57. 


GOOD    FOE   EVIL.  57 

"I  will,  I  will,"  he  shouted  out  aloud,  though 
there  was  no  one  —  was  there  no  one  ?  —  to  hear. 
And  as  he  sprang  forward  to  rush  after  Dolly  and 
overtake  her,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  half-lifted 
from  his  feet,  and  at  the  same  moment  another  waft 
of  the  breeze  he  had  been  feeling,  though  still  softer 
and  with  a  scent  as  of  spring  flowers  about  it,  blew 
into  his  face. 

"  Are  you  kissing  me,  kind  wind  ? "  he  said 
laughing,  and  in  answer,  as  it  were,  he  felt  himself 
blown  along  almost  as  swiftly  as  the  night  before. 
At  this  rate  it  did  not  take  him  long  to  gain  ground 
on  the  miller's  daughter. 

"  Dolly,  Dolly,"  he  called  out  when  he  saw  him- 
self within  a  few  paces  of  her.  "  Stop,  do  stop.  I 
have  something  for  you  —  something  to  say  to  you." 

Dolly  turned  round  in  astonishment. 

"  Gratian  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  have  you  been  run- 
ning after  me  all  this  time?  I  would  have  waited 
for  you  if  I'd  known." 

"  Never  mind.  I  ran  very  fast,"  said  Gratian. 
"Look  here,  Dolly,"  and  he  held  out  to  her  the 
poor  copy-book  which  he  had  already  taken  out  of 
his  satchel.  "  This  is  what  I  ran  after  you  for ; 
give  it  to  Tony,  and  —  " 

"  Tony's  lost  exercise-book  !  "  cried  Dolly.  "  Oh 
Gratian,  how  glad  he  will  be.  Where  did  you  find 
it?  How  good  of  you!  Did  you  find  it  just  now, 
since  you  said  good-night  to  me  ?  " 


58  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

Gratian's  face  grew  red,  but  it  was  too  dark  for 
Dolly  to  see. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  found  it  before.  But  —  but  - 
Tony  had  done  me  a  bad  turn,  Dolly,  and  it  wasn't 
easy  —  not  all  at  once  —  to  do  him  a  good  one  instead. 
But  I've  done  it  now,  and  you  may  tell  him  what  I 
say.  I'm  quite  in  earnest,  and  I'm  glad  I've  done  it. 
Tell  him  I  hope  he'll  be  the  head  of  his  class  now, 
anyway,  and  —  " 

"  Gratian,"  said  Dolly,  catching  hold  of  his  arm  as 
she  spoke,  ."  I  don't  know  what  the  trick  was  that 
Tony  played  you,  or  tried  to  play  you.  But  I  know 
he's  terrible  fond  of  tricks,  though  I  don't  think  he's 
got  a  bad  heart.  And  it  was  too  bad  of  him  to  play 
it  on  you,  it  was — you  that  never  does  ill  turns  to 
none  of  us." 

"  I've  been  near  it  this  time,  though,"  said  Gratian, 
feeling,  now  that  the  temptation  was  over,  the  com- 
fort of  confessing  the  worst.  "  I  was  very  mad  with 
Tony,  and  I  didn't  like  bringing  myself  to  give  back 
his  book.  I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  better  than 
I  am,  Dolly." 

"But  I  do  think  you  very  good  all  the  same,  I 
do,"  said  the  little  girl  earnestly,  "  and  I'll  tell  Tony 
so.  And  you  shan't  have  any  more  tricks  played 
you  by  him  —  he's  not  so  bad  as  that.  Thank  you 
very  much,  Gratian.  If  he  gets  the  prize,  it'll  be  all 
through  you." 

"  And   about    going   to   the  Big    House,"   added 


GOOD   FOR    EVIL.  59 

Gratian,  rather  sadly.  "  He'll  be  the  one  for  that 
now.  I  think  that's  far  before  getting  a  prize.  It 
was  thinking  of  that  made  me  feel  I  must  give  him 
his  book.  I'd  give  a  good  deal,  I  know,  to  be  the  one 
to  go  to  the  Big  House." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  said  Dolly,  a  little  surprised,  for 
it  was  not  very  often  Gratian  spoke  so  eagerly  about 
anything.  "  I  don't  know  that  I'd  care  so  much 
about  it.  And  to  be  sure  you  might  have  been  the 
one  if  you  hadn't  helped  Tony  now !  But  I  don't 
know  that  it  would  be  much  fun  after  all  —  just 
amusing  a  little  boy  that's  ill." 

"  You  didn't  see  the  lady,  Dolly,  but  I  did,"  said 
Gratian.  "  She's  not  like  any  one  I  ever  saw  before 
—  she's  so  beautiful.  Her  hair's  a  little  the  colour 
of  yours,  I  think,  but  her  skin's  like  —  like  cream, 
and  her  eyes  are  as  kind  as  forget-me-nots." 

"  Was  she  finely  dressed  ?  "  asked  Dolly,  becoming 
interested. 

"Yes — at  least  I  think  so.  Her  dress  was  very 
soft,  and  a  nice  sort  of  shiny  way  when  she  moved, 
and  she  spoke  so  prettily.  And  oh,  Dolly,  it'd  be 
terribly  nice  to  see  the  Big  House.  Fancy,  I've  heard 
tell  there  are  beautiful  pictures  there." 

"  Pictures  —  big  ones  in  gold  frames,  do  you 
mean  ?  "  Dolly  inquired. 

"  I  don't  know  about  gold  frames.  I've  never 
seen  any.  But  pictures  of  all  sorts  of  things  —  of 
places  far  away,  I  dare  say,  where  the  sky  is  so  blue 


60  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

and  the  big  sea  —  like  what  the  master  tells  us 
sometimes  in  our  geography.  Oh,  I'd  like  more  than 
anything  to  see  pictures,  Dolly." 

"I  never  thought  about  such  things.  What  a 
funny  boy  you  are,  Gratian,"  said  Dolly,  as  she  ran 
off  joyfully,  with  Tony's  tattered  book  in  her  hand. 

It  did  not  take  Gratian  long  to  make  his  way 
home  —  the  feeling  of  having  done  right  "  adds 
feather  to  the  heel."  But  as  he  sped  along  the 
moorland  path  he  could  not  help  wondering  to  him- 
self if  his  soft-voiced  friend  of  the  night  before  were 
anywhere  near. 

"  I  think  she  must  be  pleased  with  me,"  he 
thought.  "  It  feels  like  her  kissing  me,"  as  just  then 
the  evening  breeze  again  met  him  as  he  ran.  "  Is  it 
you  Golden-wings,  or  you,  Spirit  of  the  Waves  ?  "  he 
said,  for  he  had  learnt  in  his  dream  to  think  of  them 
thus.  And  a  little  soft  laughter  in  the  air  about 
him  told  him  he  was  not  far  wrong.  "  Perhaps  it 
is  both  together,"  he  thought.  "  I  think  they  are 
pleased.  It  is  nicer  than  when  that  sharp  East-wind 
comes  snapping  at  one  —  though  after  all,  East-wind, 
I  think  perhaps  I  should  thank  you  for  having  stung 
me  as  you  did  this  morning  —  I  rather  think  I 
deserved  it." 

Whiz,  rush,  dash  —  came  a  sharp  blast  as  he 
spoke.  Gratian  started,  and  for  half  a  moment  felt 
almost  angry. 

"I  didn't  deserve  it  just  now,  though,"  he  said. 


GOOD  FOR   EVIL.  61 

But  a  ripple  of  laughter  above  him  made  his  vexation 
fade  away. 

"  You  silly  boy,"  came  a  whisper  close  to  his  ear. 
"  Can't  you  take  a  joke  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  I  can,  as  well  as  any  one ;  "  and  no 
sooner  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  than  again, 
with  the  whir  and  the  swoop  now  becoming  familiar 
to  him,  he  was  once  more  raised  from  the  ground,  and 
really,  before  he  knew  where  he  was,  he  found  him- 
self at  the  gate  of  the  farm-house. 

His  mother  was  just  coming  out  to  the  door. 

"  Dear  me,  child,"  she  said,  "  how  suddenly  you 
have  come !  I  have  been  out  several  times  to  the 
gate  to  look  for  you,  but  though  it  is  not  yet  dark  I 
didn't  see  you." 

"I  did  come  very  quickly,  mother  dear,"  said 
Gratian,  and  for  a  moment  he  thought  of  telling  her 
about  his  strange  new  friends.  But  somehow,  when 
he  was  on  the  point  of  doing  so,  the  words  would 
not  come,  and  his  feelings  grew  misty  and  confused 
as  when  one  tries  to  recollect  a  dream  that  one 
knows  was  in  one's  memory  but  a  moment  before. 
And  he  felt  that  the  voices  of  the  winds  were  as 
little  to  be  told  as  are  the  songs  of  the  birds  to  those 
who  have  not  heard  them  for  themselves.  So  he 
just  looked  up  in  his  mother's  face  with  a  smile,  and 
she  stooped  and  kissed  him  —  which  she  did  not  very 
often  do.  For  the  moorland  people  are  not  soft  and 
caressing  in  their  ways,  but  rather  sharp  and  rugged, 
though  their  hearts  are  true. 


62  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

"  I  wonder  where  you  come  from,  sometimes, 
Gratian,"  said  his  mother  half-laughing.  "  You 
don't  seem  like  the  other  children  about." 

"  But  mother,  I'm  getting  over  dreaming  at  my 
lessons.  I  am  indeed,"  said  the  child  brightly.  "  I 
think  when  you  ask  the  master  about  me  the  next 
time,  he'll  tell  you  he's  pleased  with  me." 

"  That's  my  good  boy,"  said  she  well  pleased. 

So  the  day  ended  well  for  the  child  of  the  Four 
Winds. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

ORGAN   TONES. 

"  Music,  when  soft  voices  die, 
Vibrates  in  the  memory." 

SHELLEY. 

As  Gratian  was  running  in  to  school  the  next 
morning  he  felt  some  one  tugging  at  his  coat,  and 
looking  round,  there  was  Tony,  his  round  face  redder 
than  usual,  his  eyes  bright  and  yet  shy. 

"  She  give  it  me,  Gratian  —  Doll  did  —  and  —  and 
-  I've   to  thank  you.     I  was   awful   glad  —  I  was 
that." 

"  Have  you  got  it  done  ?  Will  it  be  all  right  for 
the  prize  and  all  that  ?  "  asked  Gratian. 

Tony  nodded. 

"  I  think  so.  I  sat  up  late  last  night  writing,  and 
I  think  I'll  get  it  done  to-night.  It  was  awful  good 
of  you,  Gratian,"  Tony  went  on,  growing  more  at  his 
ease,  "  for  I  won't  go  for  to  say  that  it  wasn't  a  mean 
trick  about  the  stones.  But  I  meant  to  go  back  and 
get  the  books  and  keep  them  safe  for  you  till  the 
next  morning.  You  did  look  so  funny  tramping 
along  with  the  bag  of  stones,"  and  Tony's  face 
screwed  itself  up  as  if  he  wanted  to  laugh  but  dared 
not. 

63 


64  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

"  It  didn't  feel  funny,"  said  Gratian.  "  It  felt  very 
horrid.  Indeed  it  makes  me  get  cross  to  think  of  it 
even  now  —  don't  say  any  more  about  it,  Tony." 

For  it  did  seem  to  him  as  if,  after  all,  the  miller's 
boy  was  getting  off  rather  easily !  And  it  felt  a 
little  hard  that  all  the  good  things  should  be  falling 
to  Tony's  share,  when  he  had  been  so  unkind  to 
another. 

"  I  want  to  forget  it,"  he  went  on ;  "  if  the  master 
knew  about  it,  he'd  not  let  you  off  without  a  good 
scolding.  But  I'm  not  going  to  stand  here  shivering 
—  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  to  say  any  more,  about  it, 
Tony." 

"  Shivering,"  repeated  Tony,  "why  it's  a  wonderful 
mild  morning  for  November.  Father  was  just  saying 
so "  —  and  to  tell  the  truth  Gratian  himself  had 
thought  it  so  as  he  ran  across  the  moor.  "  But, 
Gratian,  you  needn't  be  so  mad  with  me  now  —  I 
know  it  was  a  mean  trick,  and  just  to  show  you  that 
I  know  it,  I  promise  you  the  master  shall  know  all 
about  it,"  and  Tony  held  his  head  higher  as  he  said 
the  words.  "  There's  only  one  thing,  Gratian.  I  do 
wish  you'd  tell  me  where  you  found  my  book,  and 
how  you  knew  where  I'd  hidden  yours  ?  I've  been 
thinking  and  thinking  about  it,  and  I  can't  make  it 
out.  Folks  do  say  as  there's  still  queer  customers 
to  be  met  on  the  moor  after  nightfall.  I  wonder  if 
you  got  the  fairies  to  help  you,  Gratian?"  added 
Tony  laughing. 


ORGAN   TONES.  65 

Gratian  laughed  too. 

"No,  Tony,  it  wasn't  the  fairies,"  he  said,  his 
good-humour  returning.  And  it  was  quite  restored 
by  a  sweet  soft  whisper  at  that  moment  breathed 
into  his  ear —  "no,  not  the  fairies  —  but  who  it  was 
is  our  secret  —  eh,  Gratian  ?  "  And  Gratian  laughed 
again  softly  in  return. 

"  Who  was  it  then  ?  "  persisted  Tony.  But  just 
then  the  school-bell  rang,  and  there  was  no  time  for 
more  talking. 

Tony  was  kept  very  busy  for  the  next  day  or  two 
with  his  writing-out,  which  took  him  longer  than 
he  expected.  Gratian  too  was  working  hard  to 
make  up  for  lost  time,  but  he  felt  happy.  He  saw 
that  the  master  was  pleased,  and  that  his  companions 
were  beginning  to  look  up  to  him  as  they  had  never 
done  before.  But  he  missed  his  new  friends.  The 
weather  was  very  still  —  for  some  days  he  had  heard 
scarcely  a  rustle  among  the  trees  and  bushes,  and 
though  he  had  lain  awake  at  night,  no  murmuring 
voices  in  the  chimney  had  reached  his  ears. 

"Have  they  gone  away  already?  Was  it  all  a 
dream  ? "  the  child  asked  himself  sadly. 

Sunday  came  round  again,  and  Gratian  set  off  to 
church  with  his  father  and  mother.  Going  to  church 
was  one  of  his  pleasures  —  of  late  especially,  for  the 
owner  of  the  Big  House,  though  seldom  there  him- 
self, was  generous  and  rich,  and  he  had  spent  money 
in  restoring  the  church  and  giving  a  beautiful  organ. 


66  FOUK    WINDS   FARM. 

And  on  Sunday  mornings  an  organist  came  from  a 
distance  to  play  on  it,  but  in  the  afternoon  its  great 
voice  was  silent,  for  no  one  in  the  village  —  not  even 
the  schoolmaster,  who  was  supposed  to  know  most 
things  —  knew  how  to  play  on  it.  For  this  reason 
Gratian  never  cared  to  go  to  church  the  second  time 
—  he  would  much  rather  have  stayed  out  on  the 
moor  with  Jonas  and  Watch,  and  sometimes,  in  the 
fine  summer  weather,  when  the  walk  was  hot  and 
tiring  even  for  big  people,  his  mother  had  allowed 
him  to  do  so.  But  now,  with  winter  at  hand,  it  was 
not  fit  for  sauntering  about  or  lying  on  the  heather 
especially  with  Sunday  clothes  on,  so  the  child  knew 
it  was  no  use  asking  to  stay  at  home. 

This  Sunday  afternoon  brought  a  very  welcome 
surprise.  Scarcely  was  the  boy  settled  in  his  corner 
beside  his  mother,  before  the  rich  deep  tones  fell  on 
his  ear.  He  started  and  looked  about  him,  not  sure 
if  his  fancy  were  not  playing  him  false.  But  no  — 
clearer  and  stronger  grew  the  music  —  there  was  no 
mistake,  and  Gratian  gave  himself  up  to  the  pleasure 
of  listening.  And  never  had  it  been  to  him  more 
beautiful.  New  fancies  mingled  with  his  enjoyment 
of  it,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  distinguish 
in  it  the  voices  of  his  friends  —  the  loving,  plaintive 
breath  of  the  west,  telling  of  the  lapping  of  the 
waves  on  some  lonely  shore ;  the  sterner,  deeper 
tones  of  the  strong  spirit  of  the  north;  even  the 
sharply  thrilling  blast  of  the  ever-restless  east  wind 


ORGAN    TONES.  67 

seemed  to  flash  here  and  there  like  lightning  darts, 
cutting  through  and  yet  melting  again  into  the  har- 
mony. And  then  from  time  to  time  the  sweet,  rich 
glowing  song  of  praise  from  the  lips  of  Golden-wings, 
the  joyful. 

"  Yes,  they  are  all  there,"  said  Gratian  to  himself 
in  an  ecstasy  of  completest  pleasure.  "  I  hear  them 
all.  That  is  perhaps  why  they  have  not  come  to  me 
lately  —  it  was  to  be  a  surprise!  But  I  have  found 
you  out,  you  see.  Ah,  if  I  could  play  on  the  organ 
you  could  never  hide  yourselves  from  me  for  long, 
my  friends.  Perhaps  the  organ  is  one  of  their  real 
homes.  I  wonder  if  it  can  be." 

And  his  face  looked  so  bright  and  yet  absorbed 
that  his  mother  could  not  help  smiling  at  him,  as 
they  sat  waiting  for  a  moment  after  the  last  notes 
had  died  away. 

"  Are  you  so  pleased  to  have  music  in  the  after- 
noon too  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  is  thanks  to  the  stranger 
lady  —  the  squire's  cousin,  who  has  come  to  the  Big 
House.  There — you  can  see  her.  She  is  just  clos- 
ing the  organ." 

Gratian  stood  up  on  his  tiptoes  and  bent  forward 
as  far  as  he  could.  He  caught  but  one  glimpse  of 
the  fair  face,  but  it  was  enough.  It  was  the  same  — 
the  lady  with  the  forget-me-not  eyes ;  and  his  own 
eyes  beamed  with  fresh  delight. 

"  They  must  be  friends  of  hers  too,"  was  the  first 
thought  that  darted  through  his  brain;  "she  must 


68  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

know  them,  else  she  couldn't  make  their  voices  come 
like  that.  Oh  dear,  if  I  could  but  go  to  the  Big 
House,  perhaps  she  would  tell  me  about  how  she 
knows  them." 

But  even  to  think  of  the  possibility  was  very  nice. 
Gratian  mused  on  it,  turning  it  over  and  over  in  his 
mind,  as  was  his  wont,  all  the  way  home.  And  that 
evening,  while  he  sat  in  his  corner  reading  ovrer  the 
verses  which  the  master  always  liked  the  scholars  to 
say  on  the  Monday  morning  —  his  father  and  mother 
with  their  big  Sunday  books  open  on  the  table  before 
them  as  usual  —  a  strange  feeling  came  over  him  that 
he  was  again  in  the  church,  again  listening  to  the 
organ ;  and  so  absorbing  grew  the  feeling  that,  fear- 
ful of  its  vanishing,  he  closed  his  eyes  and  leaned  his 
curly  head  on  the  wooden  rail  of  the  old  chair  and 
listened.  Yes,  clearer  and  fuller  grew  the  tones  — 
he  was  curled  up  in  a  corner  of  the  chancel  by  this 
time,  in  his  dream — and  gradually  in  front,  as  it 
were,  of  the  background  of  sound,  grew  out  the 
voices  he  had  learnt  to  know  so  well.  They  all 
seemed  to  be  singing  together  at  first,  but  by  degrees 
the  singing  turned  into  soft  speaking,  the  sound  of 
the  organ  had  faded  into  silence,  and  opening  his 
eyes,  by  a  faint  ray  of  moonlight  creeping  in  through 
the  window,  he  saw  he  was  in  his  own  bed  in  his  own 
room. 

How  had  he  come  there  ?  Had  his  mother  carried 
him  up  and  undressed  him  without  awaking  him  as 


ORGAN   TONES.  69 

she  had  sometimes  done  when  he  was  a  very  tiny 
boy? 

"  No  —  she  couldn't.  I'm  too  big  and  heavy,"  he 
thought  sleepily.  "  But  hush  I  the  voices  again." 

"Yes,  I  carried  him  up.  He  was  so  sleepy  —  he 
never  knew  —  nobody  knew.  The  mother  looked 
round  and  thought  he  had  gone  off  himself.  And 
Golden-wings  undressed  him.  He  will  notice  the 
scent  on  his  little  shirt  when  he  puts  it  on  in  the 
morning." 

"  Humph  !  "  replied  a  second  voice,  in  a  rather 
surly  tone,  "  you  are  spoiling  the  child,  you  and  our 
sister  of  the  south.  Snow-wings  and  I  must  take 
him  in  hand  a  while  —  a  whi — ile." 

For  the  East-wind  was  evidently  in  a  hurry.  Her 
voice  grew  fainter  as  if  she  were  flying  away. 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  the  softest  voice  of  all. 
"  It's  not  fair  of  you  to  say  we  are  spoiling  the  child 
— Sea-breezes  and  I  — we're  doing  nothing  of  the 
kind.  We  never  pet  or  comfort  him  save  when  he 
deserves  it — we  keep  strictly  to  our  compact.  You 
and  our  icy  sister  have  been  free  to  interfere  when 
you  thought  right.  Do  you  hear,  Gray-wings  ?  do 
you  he — ar  ?  " 

And  far  off,  from  the  very  top  of  the  chimney, 
came  Gray- wing's  reply. 

"  All  right  —  all  right,  but  I  haven't  time  to  wait. 
Good-night — go — od-ni — ight,"  and  for  once  East- 
wind's  voice  sounded  soft  and  musical. 


70  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

Then  the  two  gentle  sisters  went  on  murmuring 
together,  and  what  they  said  was  very  pleasant  to 
Gratian  to  hear. 

"  I  say,"  said  Golden-wings,  —  "Zsay  he  has  been 
a  very  good  boy.  He  is  doing  credit  to  his  training, 
little  though  he  suspects  how  long  he  has  been  under 
our  charge." 

"  He  is  awaking  to  that  and  to  other  things  now," 
replied  she  whom  the  others  called  the  Spirit  of  the 
Sea.  "  It  is  sad  to  think  that  some  day  our  guardian- 
ship must  come  to  an  end." 

"  Well,  don't  think  of  it,  then.  I  never  think  of 
disagreeable  things,"  replied  the  bright  voice. 

"But  how  can  one  help  it?  Think  how  tiny  he 
was  —  the  queer  little  red-faced  solemn-eyed  baby, 
when  we  first  sang  our  lullabies  to  him,  and  how  we 
looked  forward  to  the  time  when  he  should  hear 
more  in  our  voices  than  any  one  but  a  godchild  of 
ours  can  hear.  And  now  — 

"  Now  that  time  has  come,  and  we  must  take  care 
what  we  say  —  he  may  be  awake  at  this  very  moment. 
But  listen,  sister  —  I  think  we  must  do  something  — 
you  and  I.  Our  sterner  sisters  are  all  very  well  in 
their  places,  but  all  work  and  no  play  is  not  my  idea 
of  education.  Now  listen  to  my  plan  ;  "  but  here  the 
murmuring  grew  so  soft  and  vague  that  Gratian 
could  no  longer  distinguish  the  syllables.  He  tried 
to  strain  his  ears,  but  it  was  useless,  and  he  grew 
sleepy  through  the  trying  to  keep  awake.  The  last 


ORGAN  TONES.  71 

sound  he  was  conscious  of  was  a  flapping  of  wings 
and  a  murmured  "  Good-night,  Gratian.  Good-night, 
little  godson — good-ni — ight,"  and  then  he  fell 
asleep  and  slept  till  morning. 

He  would  have  forgotten  it  all  perhaps,  or  remem- 
bered it  only  with  the  indistinctness  of  a  dream  that 
is  past,  had  it  not  been  for  something  unusual  in  the 
look  of  the  little  heap  of  clothes  which  lay  on  the 
chair  beside  his  bed.  They  were  so  very  neatly 
folded  —  though  Gratian  prided  himself  rather  on 
his  own  neat  folding  —  and  the  shirt  was  so  snow- 
white  and  smooth  that  the  boy  thought  at  first  his 
mother  had  laid  out  a  fresh  one  while  he  was  asleep. 
But  no  —  yesterday  was  Sunday.  Mrs.  Conyfer 
would  have  thought  another  clean  one  on  Monday 
very  extravagant  —  besides,  not  even  from  her  linen 
drawers,  scented  with  lavender,  could  have  come 
that  delicious  fragrance  !  Gratian  snuffed  and  sniffed 
with  ever-increasing  satisfaction,  as  the  words  he  had 
overheard  in  the  night  returned  to  his  memory. 
And  his  stockings  —  they  too  were  scented !  What 
it  was  like  I  could  not  tell  you,  unless  it  be  true,  as 
old  travellers  say,  that  miles  and  miles  away  from 
the  far-famed  Spice  Islands  their  fragrance  may  be 
perceived,  wafted  out  to  sea  by  the  breeze.  That,  I 
think,  may  give  you  a  faint  idea  of  the  perfume  left 
by  the  South-wind  on  her  godson's  garments. 

"So  it's  true  —  I  wasn't  dreaming,"  thought  the 
boy.  "  I  wonder  what  the  plot  was  that  I  couldn't 
hear  about.  I  shall  know  before  long,  I  dare  say." 


72  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

At  breakfast  he  noticed  his  mother  looking  at  him 
curiously. 

"  What  is  it,  mother  ?  "  he  said ;  "  is  my  hair  not 
neat?" 

"  No,  child.  On  the  contrary,  I  was  thinking  how 
very  tidy  you  look  this  morning.  Your  collar  is 
so  smooth  and  clean.  Can  it  be  the  one  you  wore 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  he  replied,  "  just  look  how  nice  it 
is.  And  hasn't  it  a  nice  scent  ?  " 

He  got  up  as  he  spoke  and  stood  beside  her.  She 
smoothed  his  collar  with  satisfaction. 

"It  is  certainly  very  well  starched  and  ironed," 
she  said.  "  Madge  is  improving  ;  I  must  tell  her  so. 
That  new  soap  too  has  quite  a  pleasant  smell  about 
it — like  new-mown  hay.  It's  partly  the  lavender  in 
the  drawers,  I  dare  say." 

But  Gratian  smiled  to  himself  —  thinking  he  knew 
better ! 

"  Gratian,"  said  his  mother,  two  mornings  later,  as 
he  was  starting  for  school,  "  I  had  a  message  from  the 
master  yesterday.  He  wants  to  see  me  about  you, 
but  he  is  very  busy,  and  he  says  if  father  or  I  should 
be  in  the  village  to-day  or  to-morrow,  he  would  take 
it  kindly  if  we  would  look  in.  I  must  call  at  the  mill 
for  father  to-day  —  he's  too  busy  to  go  himself  —  so  I 
think  I'll  go  on  to  school,  and  then  we  can  walk  back 
together.  So  don't  start  home  this  afternoon  till  I 


ORGAN   TONES.  73 

"  No,  mother,  I  won't,"  said  Gratian.  But  he  still 
hung  about  as  if  he  had  more  to  say. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  his  mother.  "You're  not 
afraid  the  master's  going  to  give  a  bad  account  of 
you?" 

"  No,  mother  —  not  since  I've  cured  myself  of 
dreaming,"  he  answered.  "  I  was  only  wondering  if 
I  knew  what  it  was  he  was  going  to  ask  you." 

"  Better  wait  and  know  for  sure,"  said  his  mother. 
So  Gratian  set  off. 

But  he  found  it  impossible  not  to  keep  thinking 
and  wondering  about  it  to  himself.  Could  it  be 
anything  about  the  Big  House?  Had  Tony  kept 
his  promise,  and  told  the  master  of  the  trick  he 
had  played,  so  that  Gratian,  and  not  he,  should  be 
chosen  ? 

"  He  didn't  seem  to  care  about  it  much,"  thought 
Gratian,  "  not  near  so  much  as  I  should  —  oh,  dear 
no !  Still  it  wouldn't  be  very  nice  for  him  to  have 
to  tell  against  himself,  whether  he  cared  about  it  or 
not." 

But  as  his  mother  had  said,  it  was  best  to  wait  a 
while  and  know,  instead  of  wasting  time  in  fruitless 
guessing. 

Tony  seemed  quite  cheerful  and  merry,  and  little 
Dolly  was  as  friendly  as  possible.  After  the  morning 
lessons  were  over  and  the  other  children  dispersed, 
the  schoolmaster  called  Gratian  in  again. 

"  It  is  too  cold  now  for  you  to  eat  your  dinner  in 


74  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

the  playground,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "  After  you  have 
run  about  a  little,  come  in  and  find  a  warmer  dining- 
room  inside.  But  I  have  something  else  to  say  to  you. 
I  had  a  talk  with  Anthony  Ferris  yesterday." 

Gratian  felt  himself  growing  red,  but  he  did  not 
speak. 

"  He  told  me  of  the  trick  he'd  played  you.  A 
very  unkind  and  silly  trick  it  was,  and  so  I  said  to 
him ;  but  as  he  told  it  himself  I  won't  punish  him. 
He  told  me  more,  Gratian  —  of  your  finding  his  book 
and  giving  it  back  to  him,  when  you  might  have  done 
him  an  ill  turn  by  keeping  it." 

"  I  did  keep  it  all  one  day,  sir,"  said  Gratian 
humbly. 

"  Ah  well,  you  did  give  it  him  in  the  end,"  said 
the  master  smiling.  "  I  am  pleased  to  see  that  you 
did  the  right  thing  in  face  of  temptation.  And  Tony 
feels  it  himself.  He's  an  honest-hearted  lad  and  a 
clever  one.  He  has  done  that  piece  of  work  I  gave 
him  well,  and  no  doubt  he  stands  as  the  head  boy  " 
—  here  the  master  stopped  and  seemed  to  be  think- 
ing over  something.  Then  he  went  on  again  rather 
abruptly. 

"  That  was  all  I  wanted  to  say  to  you  just  now,  I 
think.  Tony  is  really  grateful  to  you,  and  if  he  can 
show  it,  he  will.  Did  your  father  or  mother  say  any- 
thing about  coming  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Please,  sir,  mother's  coming  this  afternoon.  I'm 
to  wait  and  go  home  with  her." 


ORGAN   TONES.  75 

"  All  well,  that's  all  right." 

But  Gratian  had  plenty  to  think  of  while  he  ate 
his  dinner.  He  was  very  much  impressed  by  Tony's 
having  really  told. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself,  "  I  do 
wonder  if  perhaps  — 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  BIG  HOUSE  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  The  light  of  love,  the  purity  of  grace  ; 
The  mind,  the  music  breathing  from  her  face  ; 
The  heart,  whose  softness  harmonised  the  whole." 

MRS.  CONYFER  was  waiting  for  Gratian  at  the  gate 
of  the  schoolhouse  when  he  came  out. 

"  We  must  make  haste,"  she  said ;  "  I  think  it's 
going  to  rain." 

Gratian  looked  up  at  the  sky,  and  sniffed  the  cold 
evening  air. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  think  it  is." 

"It's  not  so  cold  quite  as  it  was  when  I  came 
down,"  Mrs.  Conyfer  went  on  —  the  dwellers  at 
Four  Winds  often  spoke  of  "coming  down,"  when 
they  meant  going  to  the  village  —  "that's  perhaps 
because  the  rain  is  coming.  I  don't  want  to  get  my 
bonnet  spoilt  —  I  might  have  known  it  was  going  to 
rain  when  father  said  the  wind  was  in  the  west." 

"  Why  does  the  west  wind  bring  rain  ? "  asked 
Gratian  ;  "  is  it  because  it  comes  from  the  sea  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  don't  know.  You 
should  know  better  about  such  things  than  I  —  you 
that's  always  listening  to  the  winds  and  hearing 
what  they've  got  to  say." 

76 


THE  BIG  HOUSE    AND   THE   LADY.  77 

Gratian  looked  up,  a  little  surprised. 

"  What  makes  you  say  that,  mother  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Conyfer  laughed  a  little. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  she  said.  "  We  always  said 
of  you  when  you  were  a  baby  that  you  seemed  to 
hear  words  in  the  wind  —  you  were  always  content 
to  lie  still,  no  matter  how  long  you  were  left,  if  only 
the  wind  were  blowing.  And  it  seems  to  me  even 
now  that  you're  always  happiest  and  best  when 
there's  wind  about,  though  it's  maybe  only  a  fancy 
of  mine." 

But  Gratian  looked  pleased. 

"  No,  mother,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  it's  a  fancy. 
I  think  myself  it's  quite  true." 

And  he  pulled  off  his  cap  as  he  spoke  and  let  the 
wind  blow  his  hair  about,  and  lifted  up  his  face  as  if 
inviting  its  caresses. 

"It's  getting  up,"  he  said.  "  But  I  think  we'll 
get  home  before  the  rain  comes." 

His  mother  had  not  heard  the  whisper  that  had 
reached  his  ear  through  the  gust  of  wind. 

"I  will  help  you  home,  Gratian,  both  you  and 
your  mother,  though  she  won't  know  it." 

He  laughed  to  himself  when  he  felt  the  gentle, 
steady  way  in  which  they  were  blown  along  — 
never  had  the  long  walk  to  the  Farm  seemed  so  short 
to  Mrs.  Conyfer. 

"  Dear  me,"  she  said,  when  they  were  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  gate,  "  I  couldn't  have  believed  we 


78  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

were  home !  It  makes  a  difference  when  the  wind 
is  with  us,  I  suppose." 

Gratian  pulled  her  back  a  moment,  as  she  was 
going  in. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  what  was  it  the  master 
wanted  to  say  to  you  ?  Won't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  I  must  speak  first  to  father,"  she  replied ;  "  it's 
something  which  we  must  have  his  leave  for  first." 

Gratian  could  not  ask  any  more,  and  nothing 
more  was  said  to  him  till  the  next  morning  when  he 
was  starting  for  school.  Then  his  mother  came  to 
the  door  with  him. 

"  I've  a  message  for  the  master,"  she  said.  "  Listen, 
Gratian.  You  must  tell  him  from  me  that  father 
and  I  have  no  objection  to  his  doing  as  he  likes 
about  what  he  spoke  to  me  of  yesterday.  He  said 
he'd  like  to  tell  you  about  it  himself  —  so  I  won't  tell 
you  any  more.  Maybe  you'll  not  care  about  it  when 
you  hear  it." 

"Ah  —  I  don't  think  that,"  said  the  boy,  as  he 
ran  off. 

He  needed  no  blowing  to  school  that  morning. 
The  way  seemed  short,  even  though  it  was  still 
drizzling  —  a  cold,  disagreeable,  small  rain,  which  had 
succeeded  the  downpour  of  the  night  before.  But 
Gratian  cared  little  for  rain  —  what  true  child  of  the 
moors  could?  —  he  rather  liked  it  than  otherwise, 
especially  when  it  came  drifting  over  in  great  sheets, 
almost  blinding  for  the  moment,  and  then  again 


THE  BIG  HOUSE  AND  THE  LADY.       79 

dispersed  as  suddenly,  so  that  standing  on  the  high 
ground  one  could  see  on  the  slopes  beneath  when 
it  was  raining  and  when  it  stopped.  It  gave  one  a 
feeling  of  being  "  above  the  clouds  "  that  Gratian 
liked.  But  this  morning  there  was  nothing  of  a 
weather  panorama  of  that  kind  —  just  sheer,  steady, 
sapping  rain,  with  no  wind  to  interfere. 

"They  are  tired,  I  dare  say,"  thought  Gratian; 
"  for  they  must  have  been  hard  at  work  last  night, 
getting  the  clouds  together  for  all  this  rain.  I 
expect  Golden-wings  goes  off  altogether  when  it's 
so  cold  and  dreary.  I  wonder  where  she  is.  I  would 
like  to  see  her  home  —  it  must  be  full  of  such  beauti- 
ful colours  and  scents." 

"  And  mine  —  wouldn't  you  like  to  see  mine  ?  " 
whistled  a  sudden  cold  breath  in  his  ear.  "  Yes,  I 
have  made  you  jump.  But  I'm  not  going  to  bring 
the  snow  just  yet  —  I've  just  come  down  for  a 
moment,  to  see  how  much  rain  Green-wings  has  got 
together.  She  mustn't  waste  it,  you  see.  I  can't 
have  her  interfering  with  my  reservoirs  for  the 
winter.  I  hold  with  a  good  old-fashioned  winter  — 
a  snowy  Christmas  and  plenty  of  picture  exhibitions 
for  my  pet  artist,  Jack  Frost.  A  good  winter's  the 
healthiest  in  the  end  for  all  concerned." 

"  Yes,  I  think  so  to,"  said  Gratian.  He  wished 
to  be  civil  to  White-wings.  It  was  interesting  to 
have  some  one  to  talk  to  as  he  went  along,  and  the 
North-wind  in  a  mild  mood  seemed  an  agreeable 


80  FOUR   WINDS    FARM. 

companion,  less  snappish  and  jerky  than  her  sister 
of  the  east. 

"  That's  a  sensible  boy,"  said  the  snow-bringer 
condescendingly ;  "  you've  something  of  the  old 
northern  spirit  about  you  here  on  the  moorlands 
still,  I  fancy.  Ah  I  if  you  could  see  the  north  —  the 
real  north  —  I  don't  fancy  you  would  care  much 
about  the  sleepy  golden  lands  you  were  dreaming  of 
just  now." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  them,"  replied  the  child ;  "  I  don't 
say  I'd  like  to  live  in  them  always.  But  the  scents 
and  the  colours  —  they  must  be  very  beautiful.  I 
seem  to  know  all  about  them  when  Golden-wings 
kisses  me." 

"Humph,"  said  the  Spirit  of  the  North.  Both 
she  and  Gray-wings  had  a  peculiar  way  of  saying 
"  humph  "  when  Gratian  praised  either  of  the  gentler 
sisters  —  "  as  for  scents  I  don't  say  — scent  is  a  stupid 
sort  of  thing.  I  don't  understand  anything  about  it. 
But  colours  —  you're  mistaken,  I  assure  you,  if  you 
think  the  south  can  beat  me  in  that.  You've  got 
your  head  full  of  the  idea  of  snow  —  interminable  ice- 
fields and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Why,  my  good  boy,  did 
you  never  here  of  Arctic  sunsets  —  not  to  speak  of 
the  Northern  Lights  ?  I  could  show  you  sunsets  and 
sunrises  such  as  you  have  never  dreamt  of  —  like 
rainbows  painted  on  gold.  Ah,  it  is  a  pity  you  can- 
not come  with  me  !  " 

"  And  why  can't  I  ?  "  asked  Gratian.  "  I'm  not 
afraid  of  the  cold." 


THE  BIG  HOUSE  AND  THE  LADY.        81 

The  North-wind  gave  a  whistle  of  good-natured 
contempt. 

"  My  dear,  you'd  have  no  time  to  be  afraid  or  not 
afraid  —  you'd  be  dead  before  you'd  even  looked 
about  you.  Ah  —  it's  a  terrible  inconvenience,  those 
bodies  of  yours  —  if  you  weia  like  us,  now!  But  I 
mustn't  waste  my  time  talking,  only  as  I  was  passing 
I  thought  I'd  say  a  word  or  two.  When  my  sisters 
are  all  together  there's  never  any  getting  in  a  syllable 
edgeways.  Good-bye,  my  child.  We'll  meet  again 
oftener  during  the  next  few  months." 

"  Good-bye,  Godmother  White-wings,"  said  Gra- 
tian,  and  a  gust  of  wind  rushing  past  him  with  a 
whistle  seemed  to  answer,  "  Good-bye." 

"I'm  very  glad  to  have  had  a  little  talk  with 
her,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  she's  much  nicer  than  I 
thought  she  was,  and  she  makes  one  feel  so  strong 
and  brisk.  Dear  me  —  what  wonderful  places  there 
must  be  up  in  the  north  where  she  lives ! " 

The  master  called  him  aside  after  morning  lessons. 

"Did  your  mother  send  any  message  to  me, 
Gratian  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  and  he  repeated  what  Mrs.  Conyfer 
had  said. 

The  schoolmaster  looked  pleased. 

"  I'm  glad  she  and  your  father  have  no  objection," 
he  said.  "  I  think  it  may  be  a  good  thing  for  you  in 
several  ways.  But  I  must  explain  it  to  you.  You 
know  the  Big  House  as  they  call  it,  here  ?  A  lady 


82  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

and  her  son  have  come  to  stay  there  for  a  time  — 
relations  of  the  squire's  — 

"  Yes,  sir,  T  know,"  interrupted  Gratian ;  "  she 
plays  the  organ  on  Sunday  afternoons,  and  her  little 
boy  is  ill." 

"Not  exactly  ill,  but  he  had  a  fall,  and  he  mustn't 
walk  about  or  stand  much.  It's  dull  for  him,  as  at 
home  he  was  used  to  companions.  His  mother  asked 
me  to  send  him  one  of  my  best  boys  —  a  boy  who 
could  read  well  for  one  thing  —  as  a  playmate.  At 
first  I  thought  of  Tony  Ferris,  and  I  spoke  of  him. 
But  Tony  has  begged  me  to  choose  you  instead  of 
him." 

Gratian  raised  his  brown  eyes  and  fixed  them  on 
the  master's  face. 

"Does  Tony  not  want  to  go?"  he  asked.  "I 
shouldn't  like  to  take  it  from  him  if  he  wants  to  go." 

"I  think  he  would  be  happier  for  you  to  go,"  said 
the  master,  "  and  perhaps  you  may  be  more  suitable. 
Besides  Tony  thinks  that  he  owes  you  something. 
He  has  told  me  of  the  trick  he  played  you,  as  you 
know  —  and  certainly  you  deserve  to  be  chosen  more 
than  he.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  would  care  much 
about  it ;  but  still  it  will  give  him  pleasure  to  think 
he  has  got  it  for  you,  and  we  may  let  him  have  this 
pleasure." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Gratian  thoughtfully.  And  then 
he  added,  "  it  was  good  of  Tony  to  ask  for  it  for  me." 

"  Yes,  it  was,"  agreed  the  master. 


THE  BIG  HOUSE  AND  THE  LADY.        83 

"  Then  when  am  I  to  go  ?  "  asked  Gratian. 

"  This  afternoon.  I  will  let  you  off  an  hour  or  so 
earlier,  and  you  can  stay  at  the  Big  House  till  it  is 
dark.  It  is  no  farther  home  from  there  than  from 
here,  if  you  go  by  the  road  at  the  back  of  it.  We 
shall  see  how  you  get  on,  and  then  the  lady  will  tell 
you  about  going  again." 

Gratian  still  lingered. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  master.  "Do  you  not 
think  you  shall  like  it?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir,  oh  no,"  exclaimed  the  child.  "  I  was 
only  wondering.  Are  there  pictures  at  the  Big 
House,  do  you  think,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  there  are  some.  Are  you  fond  of 
pictures  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I've  never  seen  any  real  ones. 
But  I've  often  thought  about  them,  and  fancied  them 
in  my  mind.  There  are  such  lots  of  things  I'd  like 
to  see  pictures  of  that  I  can't  see  any  other  way." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  will  see  some  at  the  Big 
House,"  said  the  master  with  a  smile. 

Out  in  the  playground  Gratian  ran  against  Tony. 

"  Has  he  told  you  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gratian.  "  I'm  to  go  this  afternoon. 
It  was  very  good  of  you,  Tony,  to  want  me  to  go 
instead  of  you." 

Tony  got  rather  red. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I'd  a-cared  about  it  much, 
Gratian,"  he  said.  "  It  wasn't  that  as  cost  me  much. 


84  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  did  want  to  get  out  of 
telling  the  master  about  the  trick  I'd  played  you. 
And  I  don't  know  as  I'd  have  told  it,  but  a  mighty 
queer  thing  happened  —  it's  thanks  to  that  I  told." 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Gracian. 

"  It  was  at  night  after  I  was  in  bed.  I'd  put  off 
telling,  and  I  thought  maybe  it'd  all  be  forgotten. 
And  that  night  all  of  a  sudden  there  came  such  a 
storm  of  wind  that  it  woke  me  up  —  the  window  had 
burst  open,  and  I  swear  to  you,  Gratian  —  I've  not 
told  any  one  else  —  I  saw  a  figure  all  in  white,  and 
with  white  wings,  leaning  over  my  bed,  as  if  it  had 
brought  the  storm  with  it.  I  was  so  frightened  I 
began  to  think  of  all  the  bad  things  I  had  done,  and 
I  hollered  out,  '  I'll  tell  master  first  thing  to-morrow 
morning,  I  will.'  And  with  that  the  wind  seemed 
to  go  down  as  sudden  as  it  came,  and  I  heard  a  sort 
of  singing,  something  like  when  the  organ  plays  very 
low  in  church,  and  there  was  a  beautiful  sweet  scent 
of  flowers  through  the  room;  and  I  suppose  I  fell 
asleep  again,  for  when  I  woke  it  was  morning,  and 
I  could  have  fancied  it  was  all  a  dream,  for  nobody 
else  had  heard  the  wind  in  the  night." 

"  We  hear  it  most  nights  up  at  our  place,"  said 
Gratian,  "  but  I'm  never  frightened  of  it." 

"You  would  have  been  that  night  —  leastways  / 
was.  I  durstn't  go  back  from  my  word,  dream  or  no 
dream  —  so  now  you  know,  Gratian,  how  I  came  to 
tell.  And  I  hope  you'll  enjoy  yourself  at  the  Big 
House." 


THE  BIG  HOUSE  AND  THE  LADY.        85 

"I  shall  thank  you  for  it  if  I  do,  all  the  same, 
Tony,"  Gratian  replied. 

"It's  more  in  your  way  than  mine.  I'd  feel 
myself  such  a  great  silly  going  among  gentry  folk 
like  that,"  said  Tony,  as  he  scampered  off  to  his 
dinner. 

About  three  o'clock  that  afternoon  Gratian  found 
himself  at  the  gates  of  the  Big  House.  He  had  often 
passed  by  that  way  and  stood  looking  in,  but  he  had 
never  been  within  the  gates,  for  they  were  always 
kept  locked ;  and  there  had  been  a  strange,  almost 
sad  look  of  loneliness  and  desertedness  about  the 
place,  even  though  the  gardens  had  not  been  allowed 
to  be  untidy  or  overrun.  Now  it  looked  already 
different ;  the  padlock  and  chain  were  removed,  and 
there  were  the  marks  of  wheels  upon  the  gravel. 
It  seemed  to  Gratian  that  even  if  he  had  not  known 
there  were  visitors  in  the  old  house  he  would  have 
guessed  it. 

He  walked  slowly  up  the  avenue  which  led  from 
the  gates  to  the  house.  He  was  not  the  least  afraid 
or  shy,  but  he  was  full  of  interest  and  expectation. 
He  wanted  to  see  everything  —  to  miss  nothing,  and 
even  the  walk  up  the  avenue  seemed  to  him  full  of 
wonder  and  charm.  It  had  a  charm  of  its  own  no 
doubt,  for  at  each  side  stood  pine-trees  like  rows  of 
sentinels  keeping  guard  011  all  comers,  tall,  stately, 
and  solemn,  only  now  and  then  moving  their  heads 
with  silent  dignity,  as  if  in  reply  to  observations 


8b  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

passing  among  them  up  there,  too  high  to  be  heard. 
The  pines  round  Gratian's  home  were  not  so  tall  or 
straight  —  naturally,  for  they  had  a  great  deal  of 
buffeting  to  do  in  order  to  live  at  all,  and  this  of 
course  did  not  help  them  to  grow  tall  or  erect. 
Gratian  looked  up  in  wonder  at  the  great  height. 

"  How  I  wish  I  knew  what  they  say  to  each  other 
up  there,"  he  said. 

But  just  then  a  drop  of  something  cold  falling  on 
his  face  made  him  start.  It  was  beginning  to  rain. 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  wet  when  I  first  see  the  lady 
and  the  young  gentleman,"  he  thought.  "  I  must  be 
quick." 

So  off  he  set  at  a  run,  which  perhaps  did  not  much 
hasten  matters,  for  when  he  got  to  the  hall  door  he 
was  so  out  of  breath  that  he  had  to  stand  still  for 
several  minutes  before  venturing  to  ring. 

The  bell,  when  he  did  ring  it,  sounded  sharp  and 
hollow,  almost  like  a  bell  ringing  in  an  empty  house. 
And  when  the  door  was  opened,  he  saw  that  the  large 
hall  did  look  bare  and  empty,  and  he  felt  a  little  dis- 
appointed. But  this  feeling  did  not  last  long.  Before 
he  had  time  to  say  anything  to  the  servant,  a  sweet, 
bright  voice  came  sounding  clearly. 

"  Oh,  here  he  is,  Fergus,"  were  the  words  she  said, 
and  in  another  instant  the  owner  of  the  voice  appeared. 
It  was  the  lady  of  the  organ.  She  came  forward 
smiling,  and  holding  out  her  hand,  but  Gratian  gazed 
at  her  for  a  moment  without  speaking,  nor  seeming 


THE    BIG    HOUSE    AND   THE   LADY.  87 

to  understand  that  she  was  speaking  to  him.  He  had 
never  seen  any  one  like  her  before.  She  was  tall  and 
fair,  and  her  face  was  truly  lovely.  But  what  made 
it  so,  more  than  the  delicate  features  or  the  pretty 
soft  colours,  was  its  sunny  brightness,  which  yet 
from  time  to  time  was  veiled  by  a  look  of  pitying 
sadness,  almost  sweeter.  And  at  these  times  the 
intense  blueness  of  her  eyes  grew  paler  and  fainter, 
so  that  they  looked  almost  gray,  like  the  sea  when  a 
cloud  comes  over  the  sunny  sky  above ;  only  as  Gra- 
tian  had  never  seen  the  sea,  he  could  not  think  this 
to  himself. 

What  he  did  say  to  himself  told  it  quite  as  well. 

"  She  is  like  Golden-wings  and  Green-wings  mixed 
together,"  was  his  thought. 

And  then  having  decided  this,  his  mind  seemed  to 
grow  clearer,  the  sort  of  confused  bewilderment  he 
had  felt  for  a  moment  wafted  itself  away,  and  he 
distinguished  the  words  she  had  repeated  to  him 
more  than  once. 

"  You  are  the  little  boy,  Mr.  Cornelius  has  kindly 
sent  to  see  my  poor  little  boy.  It  is  kind  too  of  you  to 
come.  I  hope  you  and  Fergus  will  be  great  friends." 

She  thought  he  was  shy  when  at  first  he  did  not 
answer.  But  looking  at  him  again  she  saw  that  it 
was  not  shyness  which  was  speaking  out  of  his  big 
brown  eyes. 

"  You  are  not  afraid  of  me,  are  you  ? "  she  said 
smiling  again. 


88  FOUR   WINDS   FAKM. 

"Oh  no,"  he  replied.  "I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude. 
I  couldn't  be  frightened  of  you.  I  was  only  thinking 
—  I  never  saw  anybody  so  beautiful  as  you  before./' 
he  went  on  simply,  "  and  it  made  me  think." 

The  lady  flushed  a  little  —  a  very  little. 

"  I  am  pleased  that  you  like  my  face,"  she  said. 
"  I  like  yours  too,  and  I  am  sure  Fergus  will.  Will 
you  come  and  see  him  now  ?  He  is  waiting  eagerly 
for  you." 

She  held  out  her  hand  again,  and  Gratian  this 
time  put  his  little  brown  one  into  it  confidingly. 
And  thus  she  led  him  out  of  the  large,  cold  hall, 
down  a  short  passage,  rendered  light  and  cheerful 
by  a  large  window  —  here  a  door  stood  open,  and  a 
glow  of  warmth  seemed  to  meet  them  as  they  drew 
near  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LITTLE    FERGUS. 

"  Old  portraits  round  in  order  set, 
Carved  heavy  tables,  chairs,  buffet 
Of  dark  mahogany." 

MRS.  SOUTHEY. 

FOK  there  was  a  bright  fire  burning  in  the  room, 
which  sent  red  rays  flickering  and  dancing  in  all 
directions,  lighting  up  the  faded  tints  of  the  ancient 
curtains  and  covers,  and  bringing  rich  crimson  shades 
out  of  the  shining,  old  dark  mahogany  furniture. 
There  were  flowers  too  ;  a  bouquet  of  autumn  leaves 
—  bronze  and  copper  and  olive  —  with  two  or  three 
fragile  "  last  roses  "  in  the  middle,  on  which  Gratian's 
eyes  rested  with  pleasure  for  a  moment,  on  their  way 
to  the  small  figure  —  the  most  interesting  object  of 
all. 

He  was  lying  on  a  little  sofa,  placed  so  as  to  be 
within  reach  of  the  fire's  warmth,  and  yet  near  enough 
to  the  window  for  him  to  see  out  into  the  garden,  to 
watch  the  life  of  the  birds  and  the  plants,  the  clouds 
and  the  breezes.  The  autumn  afternoon  looked  later 
and  darker  now  to  Gratian  as  he  glanced  at  it  from 
within  than  when  he  was  himself  a  part  of  it  out-of- 
doors,  and  his  eyes  returned  with  pleasure  to  the  nearer 

89 


90  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

warmth  and  colour,  though  after  the  first  momentary 
glimpse  of  the  boy  on  the  sofa  a  sort  of  shyness  had 
made  him  look  away. 

For  the  child  was  extremely  pale  and  thin  —  he 
looked  much  more  ill  than  Gratian  had  been  pre- 
pared for,  and  this  gave  him  a  feeling  of  timidity 
that  nothing  else  could  have  caused.  But  the  lady 
soon  put  him  at  his  ease. 

"  Fergus,  dear,"  she  said,  "  here  is  the  little  friend 
you  have  been  hoping  for.  Come  over  here  near  us, 
my  dear  boy  "•  —  for  she  had  sat  down  on  a  low  chair 
beside  the  couch,  evidently  her  usual  place  —  "  and 
I  will  help  you  to  get  over  the  first  few  steps  of 
making  friends.  To  begin  with,"  she  said  smiling, 
"  do  you  know  we  don't  know  your  name  ?  That 
seems  absurd,  doesn't  it?  And  you  don't  know 
ours." 

"  Yes  —  I  know  his"  said  Gratian,  smiling  too,  and 
with  a  little  gesture  towards  the  invalid,  so  gentle 
and  half-timid  that  no  one  could  have  called  it 
rude;  "you  have  just  said  it  —  Fergus.  I  never 
heard  that  name  before." 

"It  is  a  Scotch  name,"  said  the  lady.  "One  can 
almost  fancy  oneself  in  Scotland  here.  And  tell  us 
your  name*" 

"  Gratian,"  he  replied,  "  Gratian  Conyfer." 

"  What  a  nice  name,"  said  Fergus,  speaking  for 
the  first  time,  "  and  what  a  queer  one  !  I  can  say 
the  same  to  you  as  you  said  to  me,  Gratian  —  I  never 
heard  that  name  before." 


LITTLE   FERGUS.  91 

"How  did  you  come  by  it?"  asked  Fergus's 
mother. 

"  I  think  it  was  because  mother  is  called  Grace, 
and  there  were  several  baby  brothers  that  died,  that 
were  called  for  father,"  he  replied. 

"  And  how  old  are  you  ? "   asked  Fergus,  raising 
himself  a  little  on  his  elbow.     "  I'm  eight  and  a  half. 
I'm  not  so  very  small  for  my  age  when  I  stand  up  — 
am  I,  mother  ?  " 

"No,  dear,"  she  answered  with  a  little  shadow 
over  her  bright  face.  "  And  you,  Gratian  ?  " 

"  I  am  nine,"  he  said ;  "  but  they  say  at  school  I 
don't  look  so  much.  Tony  is  twelve,  but  he  is  much, 
much  bigger." 

"  Tony  —  who  is  Tony  ?  "  asked  Fergus ;  "  is  he 
your  brother  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  I  have  no  brothers.  He's  the  head  boy 
at  the  school." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fergus's  mother,  "  I  remember  about 
him.  He  was  the  boy  Mr.  Cornelius  first  thought  of 
sending." 

"  And  why  didn't  he  come  ?  "  asked  Fergus. 

Gratian  looked  up  at  the  lady. 

"  Did  the  master  tell  you  ?  "  he  asked.  The  lady 
smiled,  and  nodded  her  head. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know  the  story.  You  may  tell 
it  to  Fergus,  Gratian  ;  he  would  like  to  hear  it.  Now 
I  am  going  away,  for  I  have  letters  to  write.  In  half 
an  hour  or  so  you  shall  have  your  tea.  Would  you 
like  it  here  or  in  the  library,  Fergus  ?  " 


92  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

"  Oh,  in  the  library,"  he  said  eagerly.     "  I  haven't 

been  there  for  two  days,  mother.     And  then  Gratian 

can  see  the  pictures  —  you  told  me  he  liked  pictures? 

—  and  best  of  all,  you  can  play  the  organ  to  us,  little 

mother." 

"  Then  you  feel  better  to-day,  my  boy  ?  "  she  said, 
stooping  to  kiss  the  white  forehead  as  she  was  leav- 
ing the  room.  "  Some  days  I  can't  get  him  to  like 
to  move  about  at  all,"  she  added  to  Gratian. 

"  Yes,  I  do  feel  better,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  mind  it 
hurting  me  when  I  don't  feel  that  horrible  way  as  if 
I  didn't  care  for  anything.  Have  you  ever  been  ill, 
Gratian  ?  Do  you  know  how  it  feels  ?  " 

Gratian  considered. 

"  I  once  had  a  sore  throat,"  he  said,  "  but  I  didn't 
mind  very  much.  It  was  winter,  and  I  had  a  fire  in 
my  room,  and  I  liked  to  see  the  flames  going  dancing 
up  the  chimney." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fergus,  "  I  know  how  you  mean.  I'm 
sure  we  must  have  the  same  thinkings  about  things, 
Gratian.  Do  you  like  music  too,  as  much  as  pictures  ? 
Mother  says  people  who  like  pictures  very  much, 
often  like  music  too,  and  —  and  —  there's  something 
else  that  those  kind  of  people  like  too,  but  I  forget 
what." 

"  Flowers,"  suggested  Gratian  ;  "  flowers  and  trees, 
perhaps." 

"  No,"  said  Fergus,  looking  a  little  puzzled,  "  these 
would  count  in  with  pictures,  don't  you  think  ?  I'll 


LITTLE   FERGUS.  93 

ask  mother  —  she  said  it  so  nicely.  Don't  you  like 
when  anybody  says  a  thing  so  that  it  seems  to  fit  in 
with  other  things  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Gratian,  "  I  think  I  do.  But  I  think 
things  to  myself,  mostly  —  I've  not  got  anybody 
much  to  talk  to,  except  sometimes  Jonas.  He's  got 
very  nice  thoughts,  only  he'd  never  say  them  except 
to  Watch  and  me." 

"  Who's  Watch  ?  "  asked  Fergus  eagerly.  "  Is  he 
a  dog?" 

"  He's  our  sheep-dog,  and  Jonas  is  the  shepherd," 
replied  Gratian.  "  They're  sometimes  alone  with  the 
sheep  for  days  and  days  —  out  on  the  moors.  It's  so 
strange  —  I've  been  with  them  sometimes  —  it's  like 
another  world  —  to  see  the  moors  all  round,  ever  so 
far,  like  the  sea,  I  suppose  —  only  I've  never  seen  the 
sea  —  and  not  a  creature  anywhere,  except  some  wild 
birds  sometimes." 

"  Stop,"  said  Fergus,  closing  his  eyes  ;  "  yes,  I  can 
see  it  now.  Go  on,  Gratian  —  is  the  sky  gray,  or 
blue  with  little  white  clouds  ?  " 

"  Gray  just  now,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  there's  no 
wind  that  you  can  feel  blowing.  But  it's  coming  — 
you  know  it's  coming  —  now  and  then  Watch  pricks 
up  his  ears,  for  he  can  tell  it  much  farther  off  than 
we  can,  and  old  Jonas  pats  him  a  little.  Jonas  has 
an  old  blue  round  cap  —  a  shepherd's  cap  —  and  his 
face  is  browny-red,  but  his  hair  is  nearly  white,  and 
his  eyes  are  very  blue.  Can  you  see  him,  Fergus  ? 


94  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

And  the  sheep  keep  on  browsing  —  they  make  a  little 
scrumping  noise  when  you  are  quite,  quite  close  to 
them.  And  just  before  the  wind  really  comes  a 
great  bird  gives  a  cry  —  up,  very  high  up  —  and  it 
swoops  down  for  a  moment  and  then  goes  up  again, 
till  it  looks  just  a  little  black  speck  against  the  sky. 
And  all  the  time  you  know  the  wind  is  coming.  Can 
you  see  it  all,  Fergus  ?  " 

"All,"  said  the  boy;  "it's  beautiful.  You  must 
tell  me  pictures  often,  Gratian,  till  I  can  go  out 
again.  I  never  had  any  one  who  could  make  them 
come  so,  except  mother's  music  —  they  come  with 
that.  Haven't  you  noticed  that  they  come  with 
music  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gratian.  "  I've  never  seen 
any  real  pictures  —  painted  ones  in  big  gold  frames." 

"  There  are  some  here,"  said  Fergus  ;  "  not  very 
many,  but  some.  I  like  a  few  of  them — perhaps 
you  will  too.  But  I  like  the  pictures  that  come  and 
go  in  one's  fancy  best.  That's  the  kind  that  mother's 
music  brings  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  Gratian,  his  eyes  sparkling,  "  I  under- 
stand." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would,"  said  Fergus,  with  a  tiny 
touch  of  patronising  in  his  tone,  which  Gratian  was 
too  entirely  single-minded  to  see,  or  rather  perhaps 
to  object  to  if  he  did  see  it.  "  I  knew  the  minute  I  saw 
you,  you'd  suit  me.  I'm  very  glad  that  other  fellow 
didn't  come  instead  of  you.  But,  by  the  bye,  you 


LITTLE    FERGUS.  95 

haven't  told  me  about  that  —  mother  said  you'd  tell 
me." 

Gratian  related  the  story  of  his  satchel  of  stones. 
Fergus  was  boy  enough  to  laugh  a  little,  though  he 
called  it  a  mean  trick  ;  but  when  Gratian  told  of 
having  found  his  books  again,  he  looked  puzzled. 

"  How  could  you  find  them  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  was 
nearly  dark,  didn't  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  know,"  replied  Gratian,  and  he 
spoke  the  truth.  It  was  always  difficult  for  him  to 
distinguish  between  real  and  fancy,  dreaming  and 
waking,  in  all  concerning  his  four  friends,  and  in 
some  curious  way  this  difficulty  increased  so  much  if 
he  ever  thought  of  talking  about  them,  that  he  felt 
he  was  not  meant  to  do  so.  "  I  have  fancies  some- 
times—  like  dreams,  perhaps  —  that  I  can't  explain. 
And  they  help  me  often  —  when  I  am  in  any  trouble 
they  help  me." 

"  I  don't  see  how  fancies  can  help  you  to  find 
things  that  are  lost,"  said  Fergus,  who,  except  in  his 
own  particular  way,  was  more  practical  that  Gratian, 
"unless  you  mean  that  you  dream  things,  and  your 
dreams  come  true." 

u  It's  a  little  like  that,"  Gratian  replied.  "  I  think 
I  had  a  sort  of  dream  about  coming  here.  I  did  so 
want  to  come  —  most  of  all  since  I  heard  the  lady 
play  in  church." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fergus,  "  isn't  mother's  playing  beau- 
tiful ?  I've  not  heard  her  play  in  church  for  ever  so 


96  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

long,  but  I'm  so  glad  there's  an  organ  here.  She 
plays  to  me  every  day.  I  like  music  best  of  every- 
thing in  the  world  —  don't  you  ?  " 

To  which  Gratiafc  gave  his  old  answer  —  "I  don't 
know  yet." 

Then  they  began  talking  of  more  commonplace 
things.  Each  told  the  other  of  his  daily  life  and  all 
his  childish  interests.  Fergus  was  greatly  struck  by 
the  account  of  Gratian's  home  —  the  old  house  with 
the  queer  name. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  see  it,"  he  said,  "  and  to 
feel  the  wind  blow." 

"  The  winds,"  corrected  Gratian,  "  the  four 
winds." 

"The  four  winds,"  repeated  Fergus.  "North, 
south,  east,  and  west.  They  don't  blow  all  together, 
do  they?" 

"I  think  they  do  sometimes.  Yes,  I  know  they 
do — at  night  I'm  sure  I've  heard  them  all  four  to- 
gether, like  tones  in  music." 

Fergus  looked  delighted. 

"  Ah,  you  have  to  come  back  to  music,  you  see," 
he  said.  "  There's  nothing  tells  everything  and 
explains  everything  as  well  as  music." 

"  You  must  have  thought  about  it  a  great  deal," 
said  Gratian  admiringly.  "  I've  only  just  begun  to 
think  about  things,  and  I  think  it's  very  puzzling, 
though  I'm  older  than  you.  I  don't  know  if  music 
would  explain  things  to  me." 


LITTLE    FERGUS.  97 

"Perhaps  not  as  much  as  to  me,"  said  Fergus. 
"You  see  it's  been  my  best  thing  —  ever  since  I 
was  five  years  old  I've  been  lying  like  this.  At 
home  the  others  are  very  kind,  but  they  can't  quite 
understand,"  he  added,  shaking  his  head  a  little 
sadly ;  "  they  can  all  run  about  and  jump  and  play. 
And  when  children  can  do  all  that,  they  don't  need 
to  think  much.  Still  it  is  very  dull  without  them  — 
that  is  why  I  begged  mother  to  try  to  get  me  some- 
body to  play  with.  But  I  think  you're  better  than 
that,  Gratian.  I  think  you  understand  more — how 
is  it?  You've  never  been  ill  or  had  to  lie  still." 

"No,"  said  the  boy,  "but  I've  had  no  brothers  and 
sisters  to  play  with  me.  And  perhaps  it's  with  being 
born  at  Four  Winds  —  mother  says  so  herself." 

"  I  dare  say  it  is,"  said  Fergus  gravely. 

"  Won't  you  get  better  soon  ?  "  asked  Gratian,  look- 
ing at  Fergus  with  profound  sympathy.  For,  gentle 
as  he  was,  the  idea  of  having  to  lie  still,  not  being 
able  to  run  about  on  the  moors  and  feel  his  dear 
winds  on  his  face,  having  even  to  call  to  others  to 
help  him  before  he  could  get  to  the  window  and  look 
out  on  the  sunshine  —  it  seemed  perhaps  more  dread- 
ful to  Gratian  than  it  would  have  done  to  an  ordi- 
nary, healthy  child  like  Tony  Ferris.  "  Won't  you 
too  be  able  to  walk  and  run  about  —  even  if  it's  only 
a  little?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  Fergus  replied.  "  Mother  says  I 
mustn't  expect  ever  to  be  quite  strong.  But  they 


98  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

say  I'm  getting  better.  That's  why  mother  brought 
me  here.  Do  you  know  I  can  eat  ever  so  much  more 
than  when  I  came  ?  If  I  can  get  well  enough  to  play 
—  even  on  a  piano  —  I  wouldn't  mind  so  much.  I 
could  make  up  all  sorts  of  things  for  myself  then  — 
I  could  make  pictures  even  of  the  moorland  and  Four 
Winds  Farm,  I  think,  Gratian." 

'"I'll  try  to  tell  you  them  —  I'll  try  to  make  some 
of  my  fancies  into  stories  and  pictures,"  said  Gratian ; 
"  then  afterwards,  when  you  get  well  and  can  play, 
you  can  make  them  into  music." 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  Fergus's  mother 
came  in. 

"  Tea  is  ready,"  she  said,  "  and  Andrew  is  going  to 
carry  you  into  the  library,  Fergus." 

She  looked  at  the  boy  a  little  anxiously  as  she 
spoke,  and  Gratian  saw  that  a  slight  shadow  of  pain 
or  fear  crept  over  Fergus's  face. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  would  it  perhaps  be  better 
to  stay  here  after  all  ?  You  could  show  Gratian  the 
pictures." 

The  lady  looked  very  disappointed. 

"  The  tea  is  so  nicely  set  out,"  she  said,  "  and  you 
know  you  can't  hear  the  organ  well  from  here.  And 
Andrew  doesn't  hurt  you  —  he  is  very  careful." 

Gratian  looked  on,  anxious  too.  He  understood 
that  it  must  be  good  for  Fergus  to  go  into  another 
room,  otherwise  his  mother  would  not  wish  it. 
Fergus  caught  sight  of  the  eagerness  on  Gratian's 
face,  and  it  carried  the  day. 


LITTLE   FERGUS.  99 

"  I  will  go,"  he  said  ;  "  here,  Andrew." 

A  man-servant,  with  a  good-humoured  face  and  a 
strong  pair  of  arms,  came  forward  and  lifted  the  child 
carefully. 

"  You  walk  beside  me,  Gratian,  and  hold  my  hand. 
If  it  hurts  much  I  will  pinch  you  a  little,  but  don't 
let  mother  know,"  he  said  in  a  whisper ;  and  thus  the 
little  procession  moved  out  of  the  room  right  across 
the  hall  and  down  another  corridor. 

"  There  must  be  a  window  open,"  said  Fergus  ; 
"  don't  you  feel  the  air  blowing  in  ?  Oh,  don't  shut 
it,  mother,"  as  the  lady  started  forward,  "  it's  such 
nice  soft  air  —  scented  as  if  they  were  making  hay. 
Oh,  it's  delicious." 

His  mother  seemed  a  little  surprised. 

"There  is  no  window  open,  dear,"  she  said.  "It 
must  be  that  you  feel  the  change  from  the  warm 
room  to  the  hall.  Perhaps  I  should  have  covered 
you  up." 

"  Oh  no,  no,"  repeated  Fergus.  "  I'm  not  the  least 
cold.  It's  not  a  cold  wind  at  all.  Gratian,  don't 
you  feel  it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Gratian,  holding  Fergus's  hand  firmly. 
But  his  eyes  had  a  curious  look  in  them,  as  if  he  were 
smiling  inwardly  to  himself. 

"  Golden-wings,  you  darling,"  he  murmured,  "  I 
know  you're  there  — thank  you  so  much  for  blowing 
away  his  pain." 

In  another  moment  Fergus  was  settled  on  a  couch 


100  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

in  the  library  —  a  lofty  room  with  rows  and  rows  of 
books  on  every  side,  nearly  up  to  the  ceiling.  It 
would  have  looked  gloomy  and  dull  but  for  the 
cheerful  fire  in  one  corner  and  the  neat  tea-table 
drawn  up  before  it;  as  it  was,  the  sort  of  solemn 
mystery  about  it  was  very  pleasing  to  Gratian. 

"  Isn't  it  nice  here  ?  "  said  Fergus.  "  I'm  so  glad 
I  came.  And  do  you  know  it  didn't  hurt  me  a  bit. 
The  fresh  air  that  came  in  seemed  to  blow  the  pain 
away." 

"  I  think  you  really  must  be  getting  stronger," 
said  his  mother,  with  a  smile  of  hopefulness  on  her 
face,  as  she  busied  herself  with  the  tea-table ;  "  you 
have  brought  us  good  luck,  Gratian." 

"  I  believe  he  has,"  said  Fergus.  "  Mother,  do 
you  know  what  he  has  been  telling  me?  He  was 
born  where  the  four  winds  meet  —  he  must  be  a 
lucky  child,  mustn't  he,  mother  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  so,  certainly,"  said  the  lady  with  a 
smile.  "  I  wonder  if  it  is  as  good  as  being  born  on 
a  Sunday." 

"  Oh  far  better,  mother,"  said  Fergus ;  "  there  are 
lots  of  children  born  on  Sundays,  but  I  never  heard 
of  one  before  that  was  born  at  the  winds'  meeting- 
place." 

"  Gratian  will  be  able  to  tell  you  stories,  I  dare 
say,"  said  his  mother  —  "  stories  which  the  winds 
tell  him,  perhaps  —  eh,  Gratian  ?  " 

Gratian  smiled. 


LITTLE   FERGUS.  101 

"  He  has  been  telling  me  some  pictures  already," 
said  Fergus  ;  "  oh,  mother,  I'm  so  happy." 

"  My  darling,"  said  his  mother.  "  Now  let  me  see 
what  a  good  appetite  you  have.  You  must  be  hun- 
gry too,  Gratian,  my  boy.  You  have  a  long  walk 
home  before  you. " 

Gratian  was  hungry,  but  he  hardly  felt  as  if  he 
could  eat  —  there  was  so  much  to  look  at  and  to 
think  about.  Everything  was  so  dainty  and  pretty ; 
though  he  was  well  accustomed  at  the  Farm  to  the 
most  perfect  cleanliness  and  neatness,  it  was  new  to 
him  to  see  the  sparkling  silver,  the  tea-kettle  boiling 
on  the  spirit-lamp  with  a  cheerful  sound,  the  pretty 
china  and  glass,  and  the  variety  of  bread  and  cakes 
to  tempt  poor  Fergus's  appetite.  And  the  lady  her- 
self —  with  her  forget-me-not  eyes  and  sweet  voice. 
Gratian  felt  as  if  he  were  in  fairyland. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MUSIC   AND   COUNSEL. 

"  What  is  this  strange  new  life,  this  finer  sense, 
Which  lifts  me  out  of  self,  and  bids  me 

.  .  .  rise  to  glorious  thoughts, 
High  hopes,  and  inarticulate  fantasies?  " 

Voices.  —  SONGS  OF  Two  WORLDS. 

AFTER  tea  Fergus's  mother  turned  to  the  two 
boys. 

"Shall  I  play  to  you  now?"  she  said,  "or  shall 
we  first  show  Gratian  the  pictures  ?  " 

"Play  the  last  thing,  please,"  said  Fergus.  "I 
like  to  keep  it  in  my  mind  when  I  go  to  bed  —  it 
makes  me  sleep  better.  We  can  go  into  the  gallery 
now  and  show  Gratian  the  pictures ;  it  would  be  too 
dark  if  we  waited." 

"It  is  rather  dark  already,"  said  the  lady,  "still 
Gratian  can  see  some,  and  the  next  time  he  comes 
he  can  look  at  them  again." 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  when  Andrew  came,  she 
told  him  to  wheel  Fergus's  couch  into  the  picture- 
gallery,  which  opened  into  the  library  where  they 
were. 

Andrew  opened  a  double  door  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room  from  that  by  which  they  had  come  in,  and 

102 


MUSIC    AND   COUNSEL.  103 

then  he  gently  wheeled  forward  the  couch  on  which 
Fergus  was  lying,  and  pushed  it  through  the  door- 
way. The  gallery  was  scarcely  large  enough  to 
deserve  the  name,  but  to  Gratian's  eyes  it  looked  a 
very  wonderful  place.  It  was  long  and  rather  nar- 
row and  the  light  came  from  the  top,  and  along  the 
sides  and  ends  were  hung  a  good  many  pictures. 
All  down  one  side  were  portraits  —  gentlemen  with 
wigs,  and  ladies  with  powder,  and  some  in  queer, 
fancy  dresses,  mostly  looking  stiff  and  unnatural, 
though  among  them  were  some  beautiful  faces,  and 
two  or  three  portraits  of  children,  which  caught 
Gratian's  eye. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  them  ?  "  asked  Fergus. 

Gratian  hesitated. 

"  I  don't  think  people  long  ago  could  have  been 
as  pretty  as  they  are  now,"  he  said  at  last,  "  except 
that  lady  in  the  long  black  dress  —  oh,  she  is  very 
pretty,  and  so  is  the  red  little  boy  with  the  dog,  and 
the  two  girls  blowing  soap-bubbles.  The  big  one 
has  got  eyes  like — like  the  lady's,"  he  added  half- 
timidly. 

The  lady  looked  pleased. 

"You  have  a  quick  eye,  Gratian,"  she  said.  "The 
pictures  you  admire  are  the  best  here,  and  that  little 
girl  is  my  great-grandmother.  Now,  look  at  the 
other  side.  These  are  pictures  of  all  kinds  —  not 
family  ones." 

Gratian  followed  her  in  silence.     The  pictures  were 


104  FOUR   WINDS    FARM. 

mostly  landscapes  —  some  so  very  old  and  dark  that 
one  could  scarcely  distinguish  what  they  were.  And 
some  of  which  the  colours  were  brighter,  the  boy 
did  not  care  for  any  better  —  they  were  not  like  any 
skies  or  trees  he  had  ever  seen  or  even  imagined,  and 
he  felt  disappointed. 

Suddenly  he  gave  a  little  cry. 

"  Oh,  I  like  that  —  I  do  like  that,"  he  said,  and  he 
glanced  up  at  the  lady  for  approval. 

She  smiled  again. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "it  is  a  wonderful  picture.  Quite 
as  much  a  picture  of  the  wind  as  of  the  sea." 

Gratian  gazed  at  it  with  delight.  The  scene  was 
on  the  coast,  on  what  one  might  call  a  playfully 
stormy  day.  The  waves  came  dancing  in,  their 
crests  flashing  in  the  sunshine,  pursued  and  tossed 
by  the  wind;  and  up  above,  the  little  clouds  were 
scudding  along  quite  as  busy  and  eager  about  their 
business,  whatever  it  was,  as  the  white-sailed  fishing- 
boats  below. 

"  Do  you  like  it  so  very  much  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  the  boy  replied,  "  that's  like  what  I  fancied 
pictures  were.  I've  never  seen  the  sea,  but  I  can 
feel  it  must  be  like  that." 

And  after  this  he  did  not  seem  to  care  to  see  any 
others. 

Fergus  too  was  getting  a  little  tired  of  lying  alone 
while  his  mother  and  Gratian  made  the  tour  of  the 
gallery.  So  Andrew  was  called  to  wheel  him  back 


AND   WHEN    SHE    SAT   DOWN   TO   PLAT,   THE  LIGHT    SPARKLED   AND   GLOWED 

ON  HER  FAIR  HAIR,  MAKING  IT  LOOK  LIKE  GOLD.  —p.  105. 


MUSIC    AND    COUNSEL.  105 

again  to  the  other  door  of  the  library,  from  whence 
he  could  best  hear  the  organ.  It  stood  at  one  side 
of  the  large  hall,  in  a  recess  which  had  probably  been 
made  on  purpose.  It  was  dark  in  the  recess  even  at 
mid-day,  and  now  the  dusk  was  fast  increasing,  so 
the  lady  lit  the  candles  fixed  at  each  side  of  the 
music-desk,  and  when  she  sat  down  to  play  the  light 
sparkled  and  glowed  on  her  fair  hair,  making  it  look 
like  gold. 

Gratian  touched  Fergus. 

"  Doesn't  it  look  pretty  ?  "  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
little  island  of  light  in  the  gloomy  hall. 

Fergus  nodded. 

"  I  always  think  mother  turns  into  an  angel  when 
she  plays,"  he  said.  "  Now,  let's  listen,  Gratian,  and 
afterwards  you  can  tell  me  what  pictures  the  music 
makes  to  you,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  it  makes  to  me." 

The  organ  was  old  and  rather  out  of  repair,  and 
Andrew  was  not  very  well  used  to  blowing.  That 
made  it,  I  think,  all  the  more  wonderful  that  the 
lady  could  bring  such  music  out  of  it.  It  was  not 
so  fine  and  perfect,  doubtless,  as  what  Gratian  had 
heard  from  her  in  church  on  the  Sunday  afternoon, 
but  still  it  was  beautiful  enough  for  him  to  think  of 
nothing  but  his  delight  in  listening.  She  played 
several  pieces  —  some  sad  and  plaintive,  some  joyful 
and  triumphant,  and  then  Gratian  begged  her  to  play 
the  last  he  had  heard  at  church. 

"  That  is  a  good  choice  for   our  good-night  one," 


106  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

she  said.     "  It  is  a  favourite  of   Fergus's   too.     He 
calls  it  his  good-night  hymn." 

Fergus  did  not  speak  —  he  was  lying  with  his  eyes 
shut,  in  quiet  happiness,  and  as  the  last  notes  died 
away,  "Don't  speak  yet,  Gratian,"  he  said,  "you 
don't  know  what  I  am  seeing  —  flocks  of  birds  are 
slowly  flying  out  of  sight,  the  sun  has  set,  and  one 
hears  a  bell  in  the  distance  ringing  very  faintly  ;  one 
by  one  the  lights  are  going  out  in  the  cottages  that  I 
see  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  the  night  is  creeping 
up.  That  is  what  /  see  when  mother  plays  the  good- 
night. What  do  you  see,  Gratian  ?  " 

"  The  moor,  I  think,"  said  the  boy,  "  our  own 
moor,  up,  far  up,  behind  our  house.  It  must  be 
looking  just  as  I  see  it  now,  at  this  very  minute  ; 
only  the  music  is  coming  from  some  place  —  a  church, 
I  think,  very  far  away.  The  wind  is  bringing  it  — 
the  south  wind,  not  the  one  from  the  sea.  And  you 
know  that  when  the  music  is  being  played  in  the 
church  there  are  lots  of  people  all  kneeling  so  that 
you  can't  see  their  faces,  and  I  think  some  are  crying 
softly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fergus,  "  that  isn't  so  bad.  I  can  see 
it  too.  You'll  soon  get  into  the  way,  Gratian,"  he 
went  on,  with  his  funny  little  patronising  tone,  "  of 
making  music-pictures  if  we  practice  it  together. 
That's  the  best  of  music,  you  see.  It  makes  itself 
and  pictures  too.  l^ow  pictures  never  make  you 
music," 


MUSIC   AND   COUNSEL.  107 

"But  they  give  you  feelings  —  like  telling  you 
stories  —  at  least  that  one  I  like  so  much  does.  And 
I  suppose  there  are  many  pictures  like  that  —  as 
beautiful  as  that?  "he  went  on,  as  if  asking  the 
question  from  the  lady,  who  had  left  the  organ  now 
and  was  standing  by  Fergus,  listening  to  what  they 
were  saying. 

uYes,"  she  said,  "there  are  many  pictures  I 
should  like  you  to  see,  and  many  places  too.  Places 
which  make  one  wish  one  could  paint  them  the 
moment  one  sees  them.  Perhaps  it  is  pictures  you 
are  going  to  care  most  for,  little  Gratian?  If  so, 
they  will  be  music  and  poetry  and  everything  to  you 
—  they  will  be  your  voice." 

"Poetry"  repeated  Fergus,  "  that's  the  other 
thing  —  the  thing  I  couldn't  remember  the  name  of, 
Gratian." 

Gratian  looked  rather  puzzled. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  poetry,"  he  said. 
uBut  I  don't  know  about  anything.  I  never  saw 
pictures  before.  There  are  so  many  things  to  know 
about,"  he  added  with  a  little  sigh. 

"  Don't  be  discouraged,"  said  the  lady  smiling. 
"  Everybody  has  to  find  out  and  to  learn  and  to  work 
hard." 

"  Has  everybody  a  voice  ?  "  asked  Gratian. 

"  No,  a  great  many  haven't,  and  some  who  have 
don't  use  it  well,  which  is  worse  than  having  none. 
But  don't  look  so  grave  ;  we  shall  have  plenty  of 


108  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

time  for  talking  about  all  these  things.  I  think  you 
must  be  going  home  now,  otherwise  your  mother 
will  be  wondering  what  has  become  of  you.  And 
thank  her  for  letting  us  have  you,  and  say  I  hope  you 
may  come  again  on  Saturday.  You  don't  mind  the 
long  walk  home  —  for  it  is  almost  dark,  you  see  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  I  don't  mind  the  dark  or  anything  like 
that,"  said  Gratian  with  a  little  smile,  which  the 
lady,  even  though  her  forget-me-not  eyes  were  so 
very  clear,  could  not  quite  understand. 

For  he  was  thinking  to  himself,  "  How  could  I  be 
afraid,  with  my  four  godmothers  to  take  care  of  me, 
wherever  I  were  ?  " 

Then  he  turned  to  say  good-bye  to  Fergus,  and 
the  little  fellow  stretched  up  his  two  thin  arms  and 
clasped  them  round  the  moorland  child's  neck. 

" I  love  you,"  he  said;  "kiss  me  and  come  again 
soon,  and  let  us  make  stories  to  tell  each  other." 

The  lady  kissed  him  too. 

"  Thank  you  for  being  so  good  to  Fergus,"  she  said. 

And  Gratian,  looking  up  in  her  face,  wished  he 
could  tell  her  how  much  he  had  liked  all  he  had  seen 
and  heard,  but  somehow  the  words  would  not  come. 
All  he  could  say  was,  "  Thank  you,  and  good-night." 

Out-of-doors  again,  especially  when  he  got  as  far 
as  the  well-known  road  he  passed  along  every  day, 
it  seemed  all  like  a  dream.  All  the  way  down  the 
avenue  of  pines  he  kept  glancing  back  to  see  the 
lights  in  the  windows  of  the  Big  House  —  he  liked 


MUSIC    AND   COUNSEL.  109 

to  think  of  Fergus  and  his  mother  in  there  by  the 
fire,  talking  of  the  afternoon  and  making,  perhaps, 
plans  for  another. 

"I  hope  his  back  won't  hurt  him  to-night  when 
they  carry  him  up  to  bed,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It 
was  very  good  of  Golden-wings  to  come.  But  I'm 
afraid  she  can't  be  here  much  more,  now  that  the 
winter  is  so  near.  Green-wings  might  perhaps  come 
sometimes,  but  — 

A  sudden  puff  of  wind  in  his  face,  and  a  voice  in 
his  ear,  interrupted  him.  The  wind  felt  sharp  and 
cold,  and  he  did  not  need  the  tingling  of  his  cheeks 
to  tell  him  who  was  at  hand. 

"  But  what?"  said  the  cutting  tones  of  Gray-wings. 
"Ah,  I  know  what  you  were  going  to  say,  Master 
Gratian.  White- wings  and  I  are  too  sharp  and 
outspoken  for  your  new  friends !  Much  you  know 
about  it.  On  the  contrary,  nothing  would  do  the 
lame  boy  more  good  than  a  nice  blast  from  the  north, 
once  he  is  able  to  be  up  and  about  again.  It  was 
for  the  moorland  air  the  doctors,  with  some  sense  for 
once,  sent  him  up  here.  And  I  am  sure  you  must 
know  it  isn't  Golden-wings  and  Green-wings  only 
who  are  to  be  met  with  on  the  moors." 

"I'm  very  sorry  if  I've  offended  you,"  said  Gratian, 
"  but  you  needn't  be  quite  so  cross  about  it.  I  don't 
mind  you  being  sharp  when  I  deserve  it,  but  I've 
been  quite  good  to-day,  quite  good.  I'm  sure  the 
lady  wouldn't  like  me  if  I  wasn't  good." 


110  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Gray-wings.  At  least  she  meant 
it  to  be  "  humph,"  and  Gratian  understood  it  so,  but 
to  any  one  else  it  would  have  sounded  more  like 
"  whri — i — zz,"  and  you  would  have  put  up  your 
hand  to  your  head  at  once  to  be  sure  that  your  cap  or 
hat  wasn't  going  to  fly  off.  "  Humph !  I  don't  set 
up  to  be  perfect,  though  I  might  boast  a  little  more 
experience,  a  few  billions  of  years  more,  of  this  queer 
world  of  yours  than  you.  And  I've  been  pretty  well 
snubbed  in  my  time  and  kept  in  my  proper  place  — 
to  such  an  extent,  indeed,  that  I  don't  no\v  even 
quarrel  with  having  a  very  much  worse  name  than 
I  deserve.  It's  good  for  one's  pride,  so  I  make  a  wry 
face  and  swallow  it,  though  of  course,  all  the  same, 
it  must  be  a  very  pleasant  feeling  to  know  that  one 
has  been  quite,  quite  good.  I  wish  you'd  tell  me 
what  it's  like." 

"  You're  very  horrid  and  unkind,  Gray- wings," 
said  Gratian,  feeling  almost  ready  to  cry.  "  Just 
when  I  was  so  happy,  to  try  and  spoil  it  all.  Tell 
me  what  you  think  I've  not  been  good  about  and 
I'll  listen,  but  you  needn't  go  mocking  at  me  for 
nothing." 

There  was  no  answer,  and  Gratian  thought  perhaps 
Gray -wings  was  feeling  ashamed  of  herself.  But  he 
was  much  mistaken.  She  was  only  reserving  her 
breath  for  a  burst  of  laughter.  Gratian  of  course 
knew  it  was  laughter,  though  I  don't  suppose  either 
you  or  I  would  have  known  it  for  that. 


MUSIC   AND   COUNSEL.  Ill 

"  What  is  it  that  amuses  you  so  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"It's  Green-wings — you  can't  see  her  unfortu- 
nately—  she's  posting  down  in  such  a  hurry.  She 
thinks  I  tease  you,  and  she  knows  I'm  in  rather  a 
mischievous  mood  to-night.  But  they've  caught  her 
—  she  can't  get  past  the  corner  over  there,  where  the 
Wildridge  hills  are  —  and  she  is  in  such  a  fuss.  The 
hills  never  like  her  to  run  past  without  paying  them 
a  visit  if  they  can  help  it,  and  she's  too  soft-hearted 
to  go  on  her  way  will-ye,  nill-ye,  as  I  do.  So  you'll 
have  to  trust  to  me  to  take  you  home  after  all,  my 
dear  godchild." 

"Dear  Green-wings,"  said  Gratian,  "I  don't  like 
her  to  be  anxious  about  me." 

"  Bless  you,  she's  always  in  a  pathetic  humour 
about  some  one  or  something,"  said  Gray-wings. 

"  I  don't  mind  you  taking  me  home  if  you  won't 
mock  at  me,"  said  Gratian.  "  Are  you  really  dis- 
pleased with  me?  Have  I  done  anything  naughty 
without  knowing  it?" 

Gray-wings's  tone  suddenly  changed.  Never  had 
her  voice  sounded  so  gentle  and  yet  earnest. 

"  No,  my  child.  I  only  meant  to  warn  you.  It 
is  my  part  both  to  correct  and  to  warn  —  of  the  two 
I  would  rather,  by  far,  warn.  Don't  get  your  little 
head  turned  —  don't  think  there  is  nothing  worth, 
nothing  beautiful,  except  in  the  new  things  you  may 
see  and  hear  and  learn.  And  never  think  yourself 
quite  anything.  That  is  always  a  mistake.  What 


112  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

will  seem  new  to  you  is  only  another  way  of  putting 
the  old  —  and  the  path  to  any  real  good  is  always  the 
same  —  never  think  to  get  on  faster  from  leaving  it. 
You  can't  understand  all  this  yet,  but  you  will  in 
time.  Now  put  your  arms  out,  darling  —  I  am  here 
beside  you.  Clasp  them  round  my  neck;  never 
mind  if  it  feels  cold  —  there.  I  have  you  safe,  and 
here  goes  — 

A  whirl,  a  rapid  upbearing,  a  rush  of  cold,  fresh 
air,  and  a  pleasant,  dreamy  feeling,  as  when  one  is 
rocked  in  a  little  boat  at  sea.  Gratian  closed  his 
eyes — 'he  was  tired,  poor  little  chap,  for  nothing  is 
more  tiring  than  new  sights  and  feelings  —  and  knew 
no  more  till  he  found  himself  lying  on  the  heather,  a 
few  yards  from  the  Farm  gates. 

He  looked  about  him  —  it  was  quite  night  by  now 
—  he  felt  drowsy  still,  but  110  longer  tired,  and  not 
cold — just  pleasantly  warm  and  comfortable. 

"  Gray-wings  must  have  wrapped  me  up  some- 
how," he  said  to  himself.  "  She's  very  kind,  really. 
But  I  must  run  in  — what  would  mother  think  if  she 
saw  me  lying  here  ?  " 

And  he  jumped  up  and  ran  home. 

The  gate  was  open,  the  door  of  the  house  was 
open  too,  and  just  within  the  porch  stood  his  mother. 

"  Is  that  you,  Gratian  ?  "  she  said,  as  she  heard  his 
step. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  he  replied ;  and  as  he  came  into 
the  light  he  looked  up  at  her.  She  was  much,  much 


MUSIC   AND   COUNSEL.  113 

older-looking  than  Fergus's  mother,  for  she  had  not 
married  young,  and  Gratian  was  the  youngest  of 
several,  the  others  of  whom  had  died.  But  as  he 
glanced  at  her  sunburnt  face,  and  saw  the  love  shin- 
ing out  of  her  eyes,  tired  and  rather  worn  by  daily 
work  as  she  was,  she  somehow  reminded  him  of  the 
graceful  lady  with  the  sweet  blue  eyes. 

"  I  understand  some  of  what  Gray-wings  said,"  he 
thought.  "  It's  the  same  in  mother's  face  and  in  hers 
when  she  looks  at  Fergus." 

And  he  held  up  his  mouth  for  a  kiss. 

"  Have  you  been  happy  at  the  Big  House  ?  "  Mrs. 
Conyfer  asked.  "  Were  they  kind  to  you  ?  She  seems 
a  kind  lady,  if  one  can  trust  to  pretty  looks." 

"  Oh  !  she's  very  kind,"  answered  Gratian  eagerly  ; 
"and  so's  Fergus.     He's  her  boy,  mother — he  can't 
walk,  nor  scarcely  stand.     But  he's  getting  better  — 
the  air  here  will  make  him  better." 

"  It's  to  be  hoped  so,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  farmer's 
wife,  with  great  sympathy  in  her  tone.  "  It  must  be 
a  terrible  grief  — the  poor  child  —  I  couldn't  find  it  in 
my  heart  to  refuse  to  let  you  go  when  Mr.  Cornelius 
told  me  of  his  affliction.  But  you  were  happy,  and 
they  were  good  to  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mother !  yes  —  happier  than  ever  I  was  in 
my  life." 

Mrs.  Conyfer  smiled  and  yet  sighed  a  little.  She 
knew  her  child  was  not  altogether  like  his  compeers 
of  the  moor  country  —  she  was  proud  of  it,  and  yet 
sometimes  afraid  with  a  vague  misgiving. 


114  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

"  Come  in  and  warm  yourself  —  it's  a  cold  evening. 
There's  some  hot  gridle  cakes  and  a  cup  of  Fern- 
flower's  milk  for  your  supper  —  though  maybe  you 
had  so  many  fine  things  to  eat  at  the  Big  House  that 
you  won't  be  hungry." 

"  Ah,  but  I  am,  though,"  he  said  brightly  ;  and 
the  big  kitchen  looked  so  cheery,  and  the  little  sup- 
per so  tempting,  that  Gratian  smiled  with  satisfaction. 

"How  good  of  you  to  make  it  so  nice  for  me, 
mother !  "  he  said.  "  I  could  never  like  anywhere 
better  than  my  own  home,  however  beautiful  it  was." 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE   STORY   OF   THE    SEA-GULL. 

"  Now  my  brothers  call  from  the  bay, 
Now  the  great  winds  shoreward  blow, 
Now  the  salt  tides  seaward  flow, 
Now  the  wild  white  horses  play, 
Champ  and  chafe  and  toss  in  the  spray, 
Children  dear,  let  us  away! 
This  way,  this  way!  " 

THE  FORSAKEN  MERMAN. 

THE  winter  —  the  real  winter,  such  as  it  is  known 
up  in  that  country  —  came  on  slowly  that  year.  There 
was  110  snow  and  but  little  frost  before  Christmas. 
Fergus  gained  ground  steadily,  and  his  mother,  who 
at  first  had  dreaded  the  experiment  of  the  bleak  but 
bracing  air,  was  so  encouraged  that  she  stayed  on 
from  week  to  week.  And  through  these  weeks  there 
was  never  a  half-holiday  which  the  two  boys  did  not 
spend  together. 

Gratian  was  learning  much  —  more  than  even  those 
who  knew  him  best  had  full  understanding  of ;  much, 
much  more  than  he  himself  knew. 

"  He  is  like  a  different  child,"  said  the  school- 
master one  day  to  the  lady,  when  she  had  looked  in 
as  she  was  passing  through  the  village  ;  "if  you  had 
seen  him  a  year  ago ;  he  seemed  always  dreaming  or 

115 


116  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

in  the  clouds.  I  really  thought  I  should  never  suc- 
ceed in  teaching  him  anything.  You  have  opened 
his  mind." 

u  His  mind  had  begun  to  open  before  he  ever  saw 
me,  Mr.  Cornelius,"  said  Fergus's  mother  with  a  smile. 
"It  is  like  a  flower — it  asks  nothing  but  to  be  allowed 
to  grow.  He  is  a  very  uncommon  child  —  one  could 
imagine  that  some  specially  happy  influences  sur- 
rounded him.  He  seems  to  take  in  and  to  feel  in- 
terest in  so  many  different  things.  I  wonder  what 
he  will  grow  up." 

"  Ah  yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  schoolmaster  with  a 
sigh.  "  It  is  a  pity  to  think  of  his  being  no  more 
than  his  father  before  him.  But  yet,  what  can  one 
do?" 

"  One  would  like  at  least  to  find  out  what  he 
might  be,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  He  will  be  a 
good  man,  whether  he  ever  leaves  the  moors  or  not  — 
of  that  I  feel  sure.  And  if  it  is  his  duty  to  stay  in 
this  quiet  corner  of  the  world,  I  suppose  we  must  not 
regret  it." 

"  I  suppose  not.  I  try  to  think  so,"  said  the  school- 
master. But  from  something  in  his  tone  the  lady 
suspected  that  he  was  looking  back  rather  sadly  on 
dreams,  long  ago  past,  of  his  own  future  —  dreams 
which  had  never  come  to  pass,  and  left  him  but  the 
village  schoolmaster. 

And  her  sympathy  with  this  half-understood  disap- 
pointment made  her  think  still  more  of  Gratian. 


THE   STORY   OF   THE   SEA-GULL.  117 

"  Cornelius  would  live  again  in  this  child  if  lie 
should  turn  out  one  of  the  great  few,"  she  thought 
to  herself. 

It  was  one  of  the  afternoons  Gratian  now  always 
spent  with  Fergus.  She  could  leave  her  lame  boy 
with  perfect  comfort  in  his  friend's  care,  sure  that  he 
would  be  both  safe  and  happy.  As  she  made  her 
way  up  the  pine  avenue  and  drew  near  to  the  house, 
she  heard  bright  voices  welcoming  her. 

"  Mother  dear,"  Fergus  called  out,  "  I  have  walked 
twelve  times  along  the  south  terrace  —  six  times  up 
and  six  times  down  —  with  Gratian's  arm.  It  is  so 
sheltered  there  —  just  a  nice  little  soft  breeze.  Do 
you  know,  Gratian,  I  so  often  notice  that  breeze  when 
you  are  here  ?  It  is  as  if  it  came  with  you." 

"  But  it  is  getting  colder  now,  my  boy,"  she  an- 
swered. "You  must  come  in.  I  have  been  to  see 
Mr.  Cornelius,  Gratian.  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  that 
he  is  pleased  with  your  lessons.  I  would  not  like 
him  to  think  that  being  with  us  distracted  your 
attention." 

"  I'm  sure  it  doesn't,  ma'am,"  said  Gratian  simply. 
"  So  often  the  things  you  tell  me  about  or  read  to  us, 
or  that  I  hear  about  somehow  when  I  am  here,  seem 
to  come  in  just  at  the  right  minute,  and  to  make  my 
lessons  easier.  I  have  never  found  lessons  so  nice  as 
this  winter." 

"  I  don't  like  lessons,"  said  Fergus.  "  I  never 
shall  like  them." 


118  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

"You  will  have  to  look  upon  them  as  necessary 
evils  then,"  said  his  mother. 

"  I  usen't  to  like  them,"  said  Gratian.  "Now  I 
often  think  I'd  like  to  go  on  till  I'm  quite  big." 

"  Well,  so  you  can,  can't  you  ?  "  said  Fergus. 

"  No,"  Gratian  replied ;  "  boys  like  me  have  to 
stop  when  they're  big  enough  to  help  their  fathers  at 
home,  and  I've  no  big  brother  like  Tony.  I'll  have 
to  stop  going  to  school  before  very  long.  I  used  to 
think  I'd  be  very  glad.  Now  I'd  be  sorry  even  if  I 
was  to  be  a  shepherd." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  lady. 

Gratian  looked  up  at  her  with  his  soft  brown  eyes. 

"  I  used  to  think  being  a  shepherd  and  lying  out 
on  the  heather  all  day  —  alone  with  the  sheep  and 
Watch,  like  old  Jonas  —  would  be  the  best  life  of  any. 
But  now  I  want  to  know  things.  I  think  one  can 
fancy  better  when  one  knows  more.  And  I'd  like  to 
do  more  than  fancy." 

"  What  would  you  like  to  do  ? "  asked  Fergus's 
mother.  "Would  you  like  to  learn  to  make  music 
as  well  as  to  play  it  ?  That  is  what  Fergus  wants 
to  do." 

Gratian  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "  I  don't  know  yet. 
And  isn't  it  best  not  to  plan  about  it,  because  I  know 
father  will  need  me  on  the  farm  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  best,"  she  said.  But  she  answered 
as  if  thinking  of  something  else  at  the  same  time. 


THE   STORY    OF    THE    SEA-GULL.  119 

And  tlien  Andrew  came  out  to  help  Fergus  up  the 
steps  into  the  house,  where  tea  was  waiting  for  them 
in  the  library. 

Fergus's  mother  was  rather  tired.  She  had  walked 
some  distance  to  see  a  poor  woman  who  was  ill  that 
afternoon. 

"Don't  ask  me  to  play  much  to-day,  my  dear  boys," 
she  said.  "I  never  like  to  play  much  when  I  am 
tired ;  it  doesn't  seem  fair  to  the  music." 

"Then  you  shan't  play  at  all,  mother  darling," 
said  Fergus.  "  Gratian,  I'll  tell  you  what ;  you  shall 
tell  mother  and  me  a  story.  That  will  rest  her  nicely." 

Gratian  looked  up  hesitatingly. 

"  He  tells  such  nice  stories,"  Fergus  went  on. 

"  Does  he  often  tell  them  ?  "  asked  the  lady. 

"  Yes,  when  we  are  alone,"  said  Fergus. 

"  The  music  makes  me  think  of  them  very  often," 
said  Gratian.  "  It  makes  Fergus  see  pictures,  and  it 
makes  me  think  stories.  Sometimes  I  can  see  pict- 
ures too,  but  I  think  I  like  stories  best." 

"  lie  made  a  beauty  the  other  day,  about  a  Prin- 
cess whose  eyes  were  forget-me-nots,  so  that  whoever 
had  once  seen  her  could  never  forget  her  again  ;  and 
if  they  were  good  people  it  made  them  very  happy, 
but  if  they  were  naughty  people  it  made  them  very 
unhappy  —  only  it  did  them  all  good  somehow  in  the 
end.  Gratian  made  it  come  right." 

"  That  sounds  very  pretty,"  said  the  lady.  "  Did 
that  come  out  of  my  music  ?  " 


120  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

"  No,"  said  the  boy,  "  that  story  came  mostly  out 
of  your  eyes.  I  called  you  the  lady  with  the  forget- 
me-not  eyes  the  first  Sunday  in  church." 

He  spoke  so  simply  that  the  lady  could  not  help 
smiling. 

"  My  eyes  thank  you  for  your  pretty  thoughts  of 
them,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  tell  that  story  again  ?  " 

"No, "Fergus  interrupted.  "I  want  a  new  one. 
You  were  to  have  one  ready  for  to-day,  Gratian." 

"  I  have  only  a  very  little  one,  but  I  will  tell  it, 
if  you  like,"  said  Gratian.  "  It  isn't  exactly  like  a 
story.  There  isn't  anything  wonderful  in  it  like  in 
the  one  about  the  Princess,  or  the  one  about  the 
underground  fairies." 

"No,  that,  was  a  beauty,"  said  Fergus.  "But 
never  mind  if  this  one  isn't  quite  so  nice,"  he  added 
condescendingly. 

So  Gratian  began. 

"  It  is  about  a  sea-gull,"  he  said.  "  You  know 
about  them,  of  course,  for  you  have  been  at  the  sea. 
This  was  a  little,  young  sea-gull.  It  had  not  long 
learnt  to  fly,  and  sea-gulls  need  to  fly  very  well, 
for  often  they  have  to  go  m&ny  miles  without  a  rest 
when  they  are  out  at  sea,  unless  there  happens  to  be 
a  ship  passing  or  a  rock  standing  up  above  the  water, 
or  even  a  bunch  of  seaweed  floating  —  that  might  do 
for  a  young  bird  that  is  not  very  heavy.  There  was 
very  stormy  weather  the  year  this  sea-gull  and  his 
brothers  and  sisters  were  hatched,  and  sometimes  the 


THE    STORY   OF    THE    SEA-GULL.  121 

father  and  mother  sea-gulls  were  quite  frightened  to 
let  them  try  to  fly,  for  fear  they  should  be  beaten 
down  by  the  storm  winds  and  not  have  strength  to 
rise  again.  It  is  quite  different,  you  see,  from  little 
land-birds  learning  to  fly.  They  can  just  flutter  a 
little  way  from  one  twig  to  another  near  the  ground, 
so  that  if  they  do  fall  they  can't  be  much  hurt.  Sea- 
gulls need  to  have  brave  hearts  even  when  they  are 
quite  little.  This  sea-gull  was  very  brave,  almost 
too  brave.  He  loved  the  sea  so  dearly  that  while  he 
was  still  a  nestling,  peeping  out  from  his  home,  high 
up  on  a  ledge  of  rock,  at  the  dancing,  flashing  waves 
down  below,  he  longed  to  be  among  them.  He  felt 
as  if  he  almost  would  go  mad  with  joy  if  only  his 
mother  would  let  him  dash  off  with  her,  whirling  and 
curving  about  in  the  air,  with  nothing  below  but  the 
great  ocean.  And  he  would  scarcely  believe  her  and 
his  father  when  they  told  him  that  it  wasn't  so  easy 
to  fly  as  it  looked  —  not  at  the  beginning,  and  that 
birds  had  to  learn  by  degrees.  At  last  one  day  the 
father,  who  had  been  out  sniffing  about,  came  in  and 
told  the  mother  it  would  be  a  good  day  for  a  begin- 
ning. So  all  the  four  young  ones  got  ready,  and 
stood  at  the  edge  of  the  nest  in  great  excitement.  I 
think  it  must  have  been  very  funny  to  see  them  at 
first  —  they  were  so  awkward  and  clumsy.  But  they 
didn't  hurt  themselves  —  for  the  old  birds  kept  them 
at  first  among  the  rocks  where  they  couldn't  fall  far. 
And  our  sea-gull  wasn't  quite  so  sure  of  himself  the 


122  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

next  day,  nor  quite  so  impatient  to  go  on  flying,  and 
I  dare  say  he  got  on  better  when  be  had  become  less 
conceited.  When  they  could  fly  a  little  better  the 
father  and  mother  took  them  to  a  little  bay,  where 
there  was  nice  soft  sand,  and  where  the  wind  blew 
gently,  and  there  they  got  on  very  well.  And  there 
they  should  have  been  content  to  stay  till  the  spring 
storms  were  over  and  their  wings  had  grown  stronger. 
They  were  all  quite  content  except  the  one  I  am  tell- 
ing you  of." 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  "  asked  Fergus. 

"  He  hasn't  got  one,"  Gratian  replied,  "but  we  can 
make  him  one.  I  dare  say  it  would  be  better." 

"  Call  him  White-wings,"  said  Fergus. 

"  No,"  said  Gratian,  "  that  won't  do,"  though  he 
didn't  say  why.  "  Besides  his  wings  weren't  all 
white.  We'll  call  him  '  Quiver,'  because  he  was 
always  quivering  with  impatience.  Well,  they  were 
all  quite  content  except  Quiver,  and  he  was  very 
discontented.  He  looked  longingly  over  the  sea, 
wishing  so  to  be  in  the  midst  of  the  flocks  of  birds 
he  saw  sparkling  in  the  sunshine ;  and  at  last  one 
morning  when  his  father  and  mother  had  gone  off 
for  a  good  fly  for  themselves,  which  they  well  de- 
served, poor  things,  after  all  there  trouble  with  the 
little  ones,  he  stood  up  in  the  nest,  flapping  his  im- 
patient wings,  and  said  to  the  three  others  that  he 
too  was  going  off  on  his  own  account.  The  brothers 
and  sisters  begged  him  not,  but  it  was  no  use  —  off 


THE    STORY    OF   THE   SEA-GULL.  123 

he  would  go,  he  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  see  the  world 
and  to  feel  independent.  Well,  he  got  on  pretty 
well  at  first;  the  sea  was  far  out,  and  there  were 
several  rocks  sticking  up  which  he  could  rest  on, 
and  he  found  it  so  easy  that  he  was  tempted  to  fly 
out  farther  than  he  had  intended,  going  from  one 
rock  to  the  other.  And  he  didn't  notice  how  far  he 
had  gone  till  he  had  been  resting  a  while  on  a  rock 
a  good  way  out,  and  then  looking  round  he  couldn't 
tell  a  bit  where  he  was,  for  there  was  nothing  but 
sea  all  round  him.  He  couldn't  think  what  had 
become  of  all  the  other  points  of  rocks  —  they  seemed 
to  have  disappeared.  But  just  as  he  was  beginning 
to  feel  rather  frightened  a  number  of  gulls  flew  up 
and  lighted  on  the  rock.  They  were  all  chattering 
and  very  excited. 

"  4  We  must  make  haste,'  they  said,  '  and  get  to  the 
shore  as  fast  as  we  can  before  the  storm  is  on  us. 
And  we  must  shelter  there  till  we  can  get  back  to 
our  own  rocks.' 

"  They  only  rested  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  got 
ready  to  start  again.  Quiver  stood  up  and  flapped 
his  wings  to  attract  attention. 

"  4  May  I  fly  with  you  ? '  he  said.  '  I'm  afraid  I 
don't  quite  know  the  way.' 

"  They  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

" ;  What  are  you  doing  away  from  your  home  —  a 
young  fledgling  like  you  ? '  they  said.  '  Come  with 
us  if  you  like,  it's  your  only  chance,  but  you'll  prob- 
ably never  get  to  shore.' 


124  FOUR   WINDS   FAHM. 

"  Oh  how  frightened  he  was,  and  how  he  wished 
he'd  stayed  at  home  !  But  he  flew  away  with  them, 
for  it  was,  as  they  said,  his  only  chance,  and  what 
he  suffered  was  something  dreadful.  And  when  at 
last  he  reached  the  shore,  it  was  only  to  drop  down 
and  lie  on  the  sands  gasping  and  bruised,  and,  as  he 
thought,  dying.  A  man  that  was  passing,  in  a  hurry 
himself  to  get  home  before  the  storm,  picked  up 
poor  Quiver,  half  out  of  pity,  half  because  he  thought 
his  little  master  might  like  to  have  his  feathers  if 
he  died,  or  to  make  a  pet  of  him  if  he  lived.  And 
Quiver,  who  was  quite  fainting  by  this  time,  woke  up 
to  find  himself  lying  in  a  little  sort  of  tool-house  in  a 
garden,  with  a  boy  about  as  big  as  you,  Fergus,  stoop- 
ing over  him. 

" '  I  don't  think  he's  going  to  die,'  the  boy  said. 
cl've  made  him  a  bed  of  some  hay  here  in  the  corner 
-  to-morrow  we'll  see  how  he  is.' 

"  Poor  Quiver  felt  very  strange  and  queer  and  sad. 
It  took  him  several  days  to  get  better,  and  he  didn't 
like  the  food  they  gave  him,  though  of  course  they 
meant  to  be  kind.  At  last,  one  day  he  was  able  to 
hop  about  and  even  to  flap  his  wings  a  little. 

" '  Now  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  fly  home  again,'  he 
thought  joyfully.  '  If  once  I  can  get  to  the  sea  I'll 
be  sure  to  meet  some  gulls  who  can  show  me  the 
way.' 

"  And  when  the  boy  came  to  look  at  him,  he  was 
pleased  to  hear  himself  said  to  be  quite  well  again. 


THE   STORY   OF   THE   SEA-GULL.  125 

44  4  We  can  let  him  out  into  the  garden  now,  can't 
we  ? '  he  said  to  the  gardener,  4  and  we'll  see  if  he's 
such  a  good  slug  catcher  as  you  say.' 

"  '  No  fear  but  he's  that,  sir,'  said  the  gardener. 
4  But  first  we  must  clip  his  wings,  else  he'd  be  flying 
away.' 

44  And  he  took  Quiver  up  in  his  arms,  and  stretch- 
ing out  his  wings,  though  not  so  as  to  hurt  them, 
snipped  at  them  with  a  big  sharp  pair  of  scissors. 
Quiver  didn't  feel  it,  any  more  than  we  feel  having 
our  nails  cut,  but  he  was  dreadfully  frightened. 
And  he  was  still  all  shaking  and  confused  when  the 
gardener  set  him  down  on  the  garden  path  —  though 
he  got  better  in  a  minute  and  looked  about  him.  It 
was  a  pretty  garden,  and  he  was  pleased  to  be  out  in 
the  air  again,  though  he  felt  something  strange  in  it, 
for  he  had  never  before  been  away  from  the  sea.  And 
he  ran  a  few  steps  just  to  try  his  legs,  and  then  turned 
round  meaning  to  say  good-bye  to  the  boy  and  thank 
him  in  his  sea-gull  way  for  his  hospitality  before 
starting  off.  Having  done  this  he  stretched  his 
wings  to  fly  —  but  —  oh  dear,  what  was  the  matter  ? 
He  could  not  raise  himself  more  than  a  few  inches 
from  the  ground  —  wings  !  —  he  had  none  left,  and 
with  a  pitiful  cry  he  rolled  over  on  the  ground  in 
miser}r  and  despair. 

44  4  Poor  bird  ! '  said  the  boy ;  4  you  shouldn't  have 
clipped  his  wings,  Barnes.  It  would  have  been  better 
to  let  him  fly  away.' 


126  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

"  '  He'd  never  have  got  to  his  home  ;  he's  too  young 
a  bird  to  fly  so  far.  And  he'll  be  uncommon  good  for 
the  slugs,  you'll  see,  sir.' 

"  So  all  the  summer  poor  Quiver  spent  in  the 
garden.  He  got  more  used  to  it  after  a  while,  but 
still  he  had  always  a  pain  at  his  heart.  He  used  to 
rush  along  the  paths  as  if  he  was  in  a  desperate  hurry 
and  eager  to  get  to  the  end,  and  then  he  would  just 
rush  back  again.  It  was  the  only  way  he  could  keep 
down  his  impatience  and  his  longing  for  the  sea.  He 
used  to  pretend  to  himself  that  when  he  got  to  the 
end  of  the  path  he  would  feel  the  salt  air  and  see  the 
waves  dancing ;  but  the  children  of  the  house,  who 
of  course  didn't  understand  his  thoughts,  used  to 
laugh  at  him  and  call  him  '  that  absurd  creature.' 
But  his  heart  was  too  sore  for  him  to  mind,  and 
even  catching  slugs  was  very  little  consolation  to 
him. 

"  And  so  Quiver  lived  all  through  the  summer  and 
the  autumn  till  the  winter  came  round  again,  and  all 
this  time  whenever  his  wings  began  to  grow  longer, 
Barnes  snipped  them  short  again.  I  don't  think  there 
ever  was  a  bird  so  severely  punished  for  discontent 
and  impatience. 

"  The  winter  was  a  dreadfully  cold  one ;  there  was 
frost  for  such  a  long  time  that  nothing  seemed  alive 
at  all  —  there  was  not  a  worm  or  a  slug  or  an  insect 
of  any  kind  in  the  garden.  The  little  boy  and  his 
brothers  and  sisters  all  went  away  when  it  began  to 


THE   STOKY    OF    THE   SEA-GULL.  127 

get  so  cold,  but  before  they  went,  they  told  Barnes 
that  he  must  not  leave  Quiver  out  in  the  garden  ;  he 
must  be  shut  up  for  the  winter  in  the  large  poultry 
house  with  the  cocks  and  hens. 

"  '  For  there's  nothing  for  him  to  eat  outside,  and 
you  might  forget  to  feed  him,  you  know,'  the  children 
said. 

"  So  Quiver  passed  the  winter  safely,  though  sadly 
enough.  He  had  plenty  to  eat,  and  no  one  teased  or 
ill-used  him,  but  he  used  sometimes  almost  to  choke 
with  his  longing  for  freedom  and  for  the  fresh  air  — 
above  all,  the  air  of  the  sea.  He  did  not  know  how 
long  winter  lasted ;  he  was  still  a  young  bird,  but  he 
often  felt  as  if  he  would  die  if  he  were  kept  a  prisoner 
much  longer.  But  he  had  to  bear  it,  and  he  didn't 
die,  and  he  grew  at  last  so  patient  that  no  one  would 
have  thought  he  was  the  same  discontented  bird. 
There  was  a  little  yard  covered  over  with  netting 
outside  the  hen-house,  and  Quiver  could  see  the  sky 
from  there ;  and  the  clouds  scudding  along  when  it 
was  a  windy  day  reminded  him  a  little  of  the  waves 
he  feared  he  would  never  see  again ;  and  the  stupid, 
peaceful  cocks  and  hens  used  to  wonder  what  he 
found  to  stare  up  at  for  hours  together.  They 
thought  by  far  the  most  interesting  thing  in  life  was 
to  poke  about  on  the  ground  for  the  corn  that  was 
thrown  out  to  them. 

"  At  last  —  at  last  —  came  the  spring.  It  came  by 
little  bits  at  a  time  of  course,  and  Quiver  couldn't 


128  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

understand  what  made  everything  feel  so  different, 
and  why  the  sky  looked  blue  again,  till  one  day  the 
gardener's  wife,  who  managed  the  poultry,  opened 
the  door  of  the  covered  yard  and  let  them  all  out, 
and  Quiver,  being  thinner  and  quicker  than  the  hens, 
slipped  past  her  and  got  out  into  the  garden.  She 
saw  him  when  he  had  got  there,  but  she  thought  it 
was  all  right  —  he  might  begin  his  slug-catching 
again.  And  he  hurried  along  the  path  in  his  old 
way,  feeling  thankful  to  be  free,  but  with  the  longing 
at  his  heart,  stronger  than  ever.  It  was  so  long  since 
he  had  tried  to  fly  in  the  least  that  he  had  forgotten 
almost  that  he  had  wings,  and  he  just  went  hurrying 
along  on  his  legs.  All  of  a  sudden  something  startled 
him  —  a  noise  in  the  trees  or  something  like  that  — 
and  without  thinking  what  he  was  doing,  he  stretched 
his  wings  in  the  old  way.  But  fancy  his  surprise ; 
instead  of  flopping  and  lopping  about  as  they  had 
done  for  so  long,  ever  since  Barnes  had  cut  them, 
they  stood  out  firm  and  steady,  quite  able  to  support 
his  weight ;  he  tried  them  again,  and  then  again, 
and  —  it  was  no  mistake  —  up  he  soared,  up,  up,  up, 
into  the  clear  spring  sky,  strong  and  free  and  fear- 
less, for  his  wings  had  grown  again  !  That  was  what 
they  had  been  doing  all  the  long  dull  winter;  so 
happiness  came  to  poor  Quiver  at  last,  when  he  had 
learnt  to  wait." 

"  And  did  he  fly  home  ? "  asked  Fergus  breath- 
lessly ;  "  did  he  find  his  father  and  mother  and  the 
others  in  the  old  nest  among  the  rocks  ?  " 


THE   STOKY   OF   THE   SEA-GULL.  129 

"  Yes,"  replied  Gratian,  after  a  moment's  considera- 
tion, "  he  met  some  gulls  on  his  way  to  the  sea,  who 
told  him  exactly  how  to  go.  And  he  did  find  them 
all  at  home.  You  know,  generally,  bird  families 
don't  stay  so  long  together,  but  these  gulls  had  been 
so  unhappy  about  Quiver  that  they  had  fixed  to  stay 
close  to  the  old  ones  till  he  came  back.  They  always 
kept  on  hoping  he  would  come  back." 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Fergus  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  How  beautiful  it  must  have  been  to  feel  the  sea- 
wind  again,  and  see  the  waves  dancing  in  the  sun- 
shine !  Do  you  know,  Gratian,  I  was  just  a  little 
afraid  at  the  end  that  you  were  going  to  say  that 
Quiver  had  grown  so  good  that  he  went  '  up,  up,  up,' 
straight  into  heaven.  I  shouldn't  have  liked  that  — 
at  least  not  till  he  had  lived  happily  by  the  sea  first. 
And  then,"  Fergus  began  to  get  a  little  confused, 
"  I  don't  know  about  that.  Do  gulls  go  to  heaven, 
mother  ?  You  don't  mind  my  thinking  dogs  do." 

The  lady  smiled.  She  had  not  said  anything  yet ; 
she  seemed  to  be  thinking  seriously.  But  now  she 
drew  Gratian  to  her  and  kissed  his  forehead. 

"  Thank  you,  dear  boy,"  she  said.  "  I  am  so  glad 
to  have  heard  one  of  your  stories." 


CHAPTER   XI. 

DRAWN  TWO   WAYS. 

"  When  Love  wants  this,  and  Pain  wants  that, 
And  all  our  hearts  want  Tit  for  Tat." 

MATTHEW  BROWNE. 

GRATIAN  almost  danced  along  the  moor  path  on 
his  way  home  that  evening ;  he  felt  so  happy.  Never 
had  he  loved  Fergus  and  his  mother  so  much  —  he 
could  not  now  understand  how  he  had  ever  lived 
without  them,  and  like  a  child  he  did  not  think  of 
how  he  ever  could  do  so.  He  let  the  future  take 
care  of  itself. 

It  was  cold  of  course.  He  rather  fancied  that 
White-wings  was  not  far  off,  and  once  or  twice  he 
stood  still  to  listen.  It  was  some  little  time  now 
since  he  had  heard  anything  of  his  friends.  But  at 
first  nothing  met  his  ear,  and  he  ran  on. 

Suddenly  a  breath  —  a  waft  rather  of  soft  air  blew 
over  his  face.  It  was  not  White-wings,  and  most 
certainly  not  Gray-wings.  Gratian  looked  up  in 
surprise  —  he  could  hardly  expect  the  soft  western 
sister  on  such  a  cold  night. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,"  she  said ;  "  you  can  hardly  believe 
it,  can  you  ?  I  am  only  passing  by  —  no  one  else 
will  know  I  have  been  here.  I  don't  generally  come 

130 


DRAWN   TWO   WAYS.  131 

when  you  are  in  such  merry  spirits  —  I  don't  feel 
that  you  need  me  then.  But  as  I  was  not  so  very 
far  off,  I  thought  I'd  give  you  a  kiss  on  my  way. 
So  you  told  them  the  sea-gull's  story  —  I  am  glad 
they  liked  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Gratian,  "  they  did,  indeed.  But, 
Green-wings,  I'm  glad  you've  come,  for  I  wanted  to 
ask  you,  if  they  asked  me  if  I  made  it  all  up  myself, 
what  can  I  say  ?  I'm  so  afraid  of  telling  what  isn't 
true ;  but  you  know  I  couldn't  explain  about  you 
and  the  others.  I  couldn't  if  I  tried." 

"  You  are  not  meant  to  do  so,"  replied  she  quickly. 
"  What  have  you  said  when  Fergus  has  asked  you 
about  other  stories  ?  " 

"  I  have  said  I  couldn't  explain  how  I  knew  them 

-that  sometimes    they  were  a   sort   of   dream.     I 

didn't  want   to   say   I   had  made  them  all   myself, 

though  I  Ivan Q  partly  made  them —  you  know  I  have, 

Green-wings." 

"  Certainly  —  it  was  not  I  for  instance,  who  told 
you  the  very  remarkable  fact  of  natural  history  that 
you  related  at  the  end  of  the  story  ? "  said  Green- 
wings  with  her  soft  laugh.  "  You  may  quite  take 
the  credit  of  that.  But  I  won't  laugh  at  you,  dear. 
It  is  true  that  they  are  your  stories,  and  yet  a  sort  of 
dream.  No  one  but  you  could  hear  them  —  no  one 
would  say  that  the  whispers  of  the  wind  talking 
language  to  you,  are  anything  but  the  reflection  of 
your  own  pretty  fancies.  It  will  be  all  right  —  you 


132  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

will  see.  But  I  must  go,"  and  she  gave  a  little 
sigh. 

"  Green- wings,  darling,  you  seem  a  little  sad 
to-night,"  said  Gratian.  "  Why  is  it  ?  Is  it  that  the 
winter  has  come  ?  " 

"  I  am  never  very  merry,  as  you  know.  But  I  am 
a  little  sadder  than  usual  to-night.  I  foresee  —  I 
foresee  sorrows"  —and  her  voice  breathed  out  the 
words  with  such  an  exquisite  plain tiven ess  that  they 
sounded  like  the  dying  away  notes  of  a  dirge. 
"  But  keep  up  your  heart,  my  darling,  and  trust  us 
all  —  all  four.  We  only  wish  your  good,  though  we 
may  show  it  in  different  ways.  And  wherever  I  am 
I  can  always  be  with  you  to  comfort  you,  if  it  be  but 
for  a  moment.  No  distance  can  separate  us  from 
our  child." 

"  And  I  am  most  your  child,  am  I  not,  dear  Green- 
wings  ?  "  asked  Gratian.  "  I  knew  you  the  first,  and 
I  think  I  love  you  the  most." 

"  My  darling,  good-night,"  whispered  Green-wings, 
and  with  a  soft  flutter  she  was  gone. 

There  was  no  mother  waiting  at  the  open  door  for 
Gratian's  return  that  evening. 

"  It  is  too  cold  for  standing  outside  now,"  he  said 
to  himself  as  he  went  in,  adding  aloud,  "  Here  I  am, 
mother.  Did  you  think  I  was  late  ?  " 

Mrs.  Conyfer  was  sitting  by  the  fire.  Her  knit- 
ting lay  on  her  knee,  but  her  hands  were  idle.  She 
looked  up  as  Gratian  came  in. 


"ARE   YOU  NOT  WELL,   MOTHER?"  HE   SAID   GENTLY.  — p.   133. 


DRAWN  TWO   WAYS.  133 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,  dear,"  she  said ;  but 
her  voice  sounded  tired,  and  when  he  was  close  to 
her  he  saw  that  her  face  seemed  tired  also. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  mother  ?  "  he  said  gently. 

Mrs.  Conyfer  looked  a  little  surprised  but  pleased 
too.  It  was  new  to  her  either  to  think  of  IIOAV  she 
was  or  to  be  asked  about  it.  For  though  her  hus- 
band was  kind  and  good,  he  was  plain  and  even  a 
little  rough,  as  are  the  moorland  people  in  general. 
Gratian  had  never  been  rough,  but  he  had  not  had 
the  habit  of  much  noticing  those  about  him.  Since 
he  had  been  so  often  with  Fergus  and  the  lady  he 
had  learnt  to  be  more  observant  of  others,  especially 
of  his  mother,  and  more  tender  in  his  manner. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  mother  dear  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  I'm  only  a  bit  tired,  my  boy,"  she  said.  "  I'm 
getting  old,  I  suppose,  and  I've  worked  pretty  hard  in 
my  way  —  not  to  say  as  if  I'd  been  a  poor  man's  wife 
of  course,  but  a  farmer's  wife  has  a  deal  on  her  mind." 

"  And  you  do  everything  so  well,  mother,"  said 
Gratian  admiringly.  "  I'm  getting  old  enough  now 
to  see  how  different  things  are  here  from  what  they 
are  in  many  houses.  Fergus  does  so  like  to  hear 
about  the  dairy  and  the  cocks  and  hens,  and  about 
the  girdle  cakes  and  all  the  nice  things  you  make." 

"  He's  really  a  nice  little  gentleman  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Conyfer,  well  pleased.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  he's  get- 
ting so  much  better.  I'm  sure  his  mother  deserves 
he  should  —  such  a  sweet  lady  as  she  is." 


134  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

For  now  and  then  on  a  Sunday  the  two  boys' 
mothers  had  spoken  to  each  other. 

"  Yes,  he's  much  better,"  said  Gratian.  "  To-day 
he  walked  six  times  up  and  down  the  terrace  with 
only  my  arm." 

"  They  weren't  afraid  to  let  him  out,  and  it  so 
cold  to-day?"  said  Mrs.  Conyfer. 

"  It  wasn't  so  very  cold  —  you  usedn't  to  mind  the 
cold,  mother,"  said  the  boy. 

"Maybe  not  so  much  as  now,"  she  replied.  "I 
think  I'm  getting  rheumatic  like  my  father  and 
mother  before  me,  for  I  can't  move  about  so  quick, 
and  then  one  feels  the  cold  more." 

"  What  makes  people  have  rheumatics  ? "  asked 
Gratian. 

"  Folk  don't  have  it  so  much  hereabout,"  his 
mother  answered ;  "  but  I  don't  belong  to  the  moor 
country,  you  know.  My  home  was  some  way  from 
this,  down  in  the  valley,  where  it's  milder  but 
much  damper  —  and  damp  is  worst  of  anything  for 
rheumatism.  Dear  me,  I  remember  my  old  grand- 
mother a  perfect  sight  with  it  —  all  doubled  up  — 
you  wondered  how  she  got  about.  But  she  was  a 
marvel  of  patience,  and  so  cheery  too.  I  only  hope 
I  shall  be  like  her  in  that,  if  I  live  so  long,  for  it's  a 
sore  trial  to  an  active  nature  to  become  so  nearly 
helpless." 

"  Had  she  nobody  to  be  kind  to  her  when  she  got 
so  ill  ?  "  asked  Gratian. 


DKAWN   TWO    WAYS.  135 

"  Oh  yes ;  her  children  were  all  good  to  her,  so 
far  as  they  could  be.  But  they  were  all  married 
and  about  in  the  world,  and  busy  with  their  own 
families.  She  was  a  good  deal  alone,  poor  old 
grandmother." 

"Mother,"  said  Gratian  quickly.  "If  you  ever 
got  to  be  like  that,  I  would  never  marry  or  go  about 
in  the  world.  I'd  stay  at  home  to  be  a  comfort  to 
you.  I'd  run  all  your  messages  and  do  everything  I 
could  for  you.  Mother,  I  wish  you'd  let  me  be 
more  use  to  you  now  already,  even  though  you're  not 
so  ill." 

Mrs.  Conyfer  smiled,  but  there  was  more  pleasure 
than  amusement  in  her  smile. 

"  I  do  think  being  at  the  Big  House  has  done  you 
good,  Gratian.  You  never  used  to  notice  or  think  of 
things  so  much  before  you  went  there,"  she  said. 
"  And  you're  getting  very  handy,  there's  no  doubt. 
I  hope  I  shall  never  be  so  laid  aside,  but  I'm  sure 
you'd  do  your  best,  my  dear.  Now  I  think  I  shall 
go  to  bed,  and  you  must  be  off  too.  Father's  out 
still  —  he  and  Jonas  have  so  much  to  see  to  these 
cold  nights,  seeing  that  all  the  creatures  are  warm 
and  sheltered.  There's  snow  not  far  off,  they  were 
saying.  The  wind's  in  the  north." 

Gratian's  dreams  were  very  grotesque  that  night. 
He  dreamt  that  his  mother  was  turned  into  a  sea- 
gull, all  except  her  face,  which  remained  the  same. 
And  she  could  neither  walk  nor  fly,  she  was  so  lame 


136  FOUR    WINDS    FARM. 

and  stiff, 'or  else  it  was  that  her  wings  were  cut  —  he 
was  not  sure  which.  Then  he  heard  Green-wings's 
voice  saying,  "She  only  wants  a  sight  of  the  sea  to 
make  her  well.  Gratian,  you  should  take  her  to  the 
sea ;  call  the  cocks  and  hens  to  help  you  ; "  and  with 
that  he  thought  he  opened  his  eyes  and  found  him- 
self on  the  terrace  where  he  had  been  walking  with 
Fergus,  and  there  was  a  beautiful  little  carriage 
drawn  by  about  a  dozen  cocks  and  hens  ;  but  when 
he  would  have  got  in,  Fergus  seemed  to  push  him 
back,  saying,  "  Not  yet,  not  yet,  your  mother  first," 
and  Fergus  kept  looking  for  Mrs.  Conyfer  as  if  he 
did  not  know  that  she  was  the  poor  sea-gull,  stand- 
ing there  looking  very  funny  with  the  little  red 
knitted  shawl  on  that  Gratian's  mother  wore  when  it 
was  a  chilly  morning.  And  just  then  there  came 
flying  down  from  above,  Gratian's  four  friends. 
Nobody  seemed  to  see  them  but  himself,  and  the 
cocks  and  hens  began  making  such  a  noise  that  he 
felt  quite  confused. 

"  Oh,  do  take  poor  mother,"  he  called  out  —  for 
there  was  no  use  trying  to  make  any  one  else  under- 
stand —  "  Green-wings  and  all  of  you,  do  take  poor 
mother." 

"  Not  without  you,  Gratian,"  replied  Gray-wings's 
sharp  voice.  "  It's  your  place  to  look  after  your 
mother,"  and  as  she  spoke  she  stooped  towards  him 
and  he  felt  her  cold  breath,  and  with  the  start  it 
gave  him  he  awoke. 


DRAWN   TWO   WAYS.  137 

The  door  of  his  room  had  blown  open,  and  the 
window  was  rattling,  and  the  clothes  had  slipped 
off  on  one  side.  No  wonder  he  had  dreamt  he  was 
cold.  He  covered  himself  up  again  and  went  to 
sleep. 

Mrs.  Conyfer  was  up  as  usual  the  next  morning. 
She  said  she  was  better,  but  she  limped  a  little  as 
she  walked,  and  Gratiari  did  not  like  to  see  it,  though 
she  assured  him  it  did  not  hurt  her. 

"I  shall  take  a  rest  on  Sunday,"  she  said,  "and 
then  you  may  tend  me  a  bit,  Gratian.  He's  as 
handy  as  a  girl,"  she  added,  turning  to  the  farmer 
with  a  smile.  And  Mr.  Conyfer  patted  his  son's 
head. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said ;  "  always  be  good  to  your 
mother." 

"  Winter  is  really  coming,"  thought  Gratian,  as  he 
ran  to  school,  and  he  glanced  up  at  the  sky  wonder- 
ing if  snow  were  at  last  on  the  way. 

It  held  off  however  for  some  little  time  yet. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  this  that  Gratian 
on  his  way  home  was  rather  surprised  to  meet  Mr. 
Cornelius  returning  as  if  from  the  Farm.  The 
school-children  knew  that  the  master  had  been  some- 
where, for  he  had  left  the  school  in  charge  of  one 
or  two  of  the  head  boys  *and  his  sister,  who  lived 
with  him  and  taught  the  girls  sewing. 

He  smiled  and  nodded  at  Gratian,  but  did  not 
speak,  and  the  boy  could  not  help  wondering  if  he 


138  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

had  been  at  Four  Winds,  and  why.  And  as  soon 
as  he  got  home  he  ran  eagerly  in  to  ask. 

"  Has  the  master  been  here,  mother?  What  did 
he  come  for  ?  "  he  called  out. 

His  father  and  mother  were  both  together  in  the 
kitchen,  talking  rather  earnestly. 

His  father  looked  at  him  as  he  answered  — 

"  Yes,  Gratian,"  he  said,  "  Mr.  Cornelius  has  been 
here.  He  had  something  important  to  talk  to  us 
about.  After  you  have  had  your  tea  and  done  your 
lessons  we  will  tell  you." 

"  I  haven't  any  lessons,  father,"  he  replied.  "  We 
had  time  to  do  them  this  afternoon  when  the  master 
was  out." 

So  as  soon  as  tea  was  over  he  was  told  what  it  was. 

"Your  friends  at  the  Big  House,"  began  the 
farmer,  "are  leaving  soon.  They  daren't  stay  once 
it  gets  really  cold.  You'll  be  sorry  to  lose  them,  my 
boy?" 

Gratian  felt  a  lump  rise  in  his  throat,  but  he  tried 
to  answer  cheerfully. 

"  Yes,  father.  They've  been  so  good  to  me.  I 
knew  they'd  have  to  go  sometime,  but  I  tried  not 
to  think  of  it.  The  lady  has  taught  me  so  many 
things  I  never  knew  before.  I'll  try  not  to  forget 
them." 

"  She  has  been  very  good  to  you,  and  she  wants 
to  be  still  more.  That's  what  Cornelius  came  about. 
I  don't  want  to  make  you  vain,  Gratian,  but  she 


DRAWN    TWO    WAYS.  139 

thinks,  and  Cornelius  thinks  —  and  they  should  know 
—  that  there's  the  making  of  something  out  of  the 
common  in  you  —  that,  if  you  are  taught  and  trained 
the  right  way,  you  may  come  to  be  something  a  good 
bit  higher  than  a  plain  moorland  farmer." 

Gratian  listened  with  wide-opened  eyes. 

"  I  know,"  he  said  breathlessly,  u  I've  felt  it  some- 
times. I  don't  rightly  know  what.  I'd  like  to  learn 
—  I'd  like  to  —  oh,  father,  I  can't  say  what  I  mean. 
It's  as  if  there  were  so  many  thoughts  in  me  that  I 
can't  say,"  arid  the  child  leaned  his  head  on  his 
mothers  shoulder  and  burst  into  tears. 

The  farmer  and  his  wife  looked  at  each  other. 
They  were  simple  unlettered  folk,  but  for  all  that 
there  was  something  in  them  that  "  understood." 

"  My  boy,  my  little  Gratian,"  said  the  mother,  in 
tones  that  she  but  seldom  used;  "don't  cry,  my  dear. 
Listen  to  father." 

And  in  a  moment  or  two  the  child  raised  his  still 
tearful  eyes,  and  the  farmer  went  on. 

"  It's  just  that,"  he  said.  "  It's  just  because  you 
can't  rightly  say,  that  we  want  you  to  learn.  No 
one  can  tell  as  yet  what  your  talent  may  be,  or  if 
perhaps  it  is  not,  so  to  speak,  but  an  everyday  one 
after  all.  If  so,  no  harm  will  be  done  ;  for  you  will 
be  in  wise  hands,  and  you  will  come  home  again  to 
Four  Winds  and  follow  in  your  father's  and  grand- 
father's steps.  But  your  friends  think  you  should 
have  a  better  chance  of  learning  and  seeing  for  your- 


140  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

self  than  I  can  give  you  here.  And  the  lady  has 
written  to  her  husband,  and  he's  quite  willing,  and 
so  it's,  so  to  speak,  all  settled.  You  are  to  go  with 
them  when  they  leave  here,  Gratian,  and  for  a  year 
or  so  you  are  to  have  lessons  at  home  with  the  little 
boy,  who  isn't  yet  strong  enough  to  go  to  school. 
And  by  the  end  of  that  time  it'll  be  easier  to  see 
what  you  are  best  fitted  for.  You'll  have  teaching 
of  all  kinds  —  music  and  drawing,  and  all  sorts  of 
book-learning.  It's  a  handsome  offer,  there's  no 
denying." 

And  the  tears  quite  disappeared  from  Gratian's 
bright  eyes,  and  his  whole  face  glowed  with  hope 
and  satisfaction. 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  father.  I  can  promise  you  that. 
You  shall  have  no  call  to  be  ashamed  of  me.  It's 
very  good  of  you  and  mother  to  let  me  go.  But  I 
shall  come  home  again  before  very  long  —  I  shan't 
be  long  without  seeing  you?  " 

"  Oh  yes  —  you  shall  come  home  after  a  while  of 
course.  Anyway  for  a  visit,  and  to  see  how  it  will 
be  best  to  do.  We're  not  going  to  give  you  away 
altogether,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  the  farmer  with 
a  little  attempt  at  a  joke. 

But  the  mother  did  not  speak.  She  kissed  the  boy 
as  she  rarely  kissed  him,  and  whispered  "  God  bless 
you,  my  dear,"  when  she  bade  him  good-night. 

"I  wonder  if  it's  all  come  of  our  giving  him  such 
an  outlandish  name  !  "  said  Mrs.  Conyfer  with  a  rather 
melancholy  smile. 


DRAWN   TWO    WAYS.  141 

And  Gratian  fell  asleep  with  his  mind  in  a  whirl. 

"  I  should  like  to  talk  about  it  to  my  godmothers," 
was  almost  his  last  thought.  "I  wonder  if  I  shall 
still  see  them  sometimes  when  I  am  far  from  Four 
Winds." 

And  the  next  morning  when  he  woke,  he  lay  look- 
ing round  his  little  room  and  thinking  how  much  he 
liked  it,  and  how  happy  he  had  been  in  it.  He  was 
beginning  to  realise  that  no  good  is  all  good,  no  light 
without  shadow. 

But  there  seemed  no  shadow  or  drawback  of  any 
kind  the  next  day  when  he  went  to  the  Big  House 
to  talk  it  all  over  with  the  lady  and  Fergus.  Fergus 
was  too  delighted  for  words. 

"It  is  like  a  story  in  a  book,  isn't  it,  Gratian?"  he 
said.  "  And  if  you  turn  out  a  great  man,  then  the 
world  will  thank  mother  and  me  for  having  found 
you." 

Gratian  blushed  a  little. 

"  I  don't  know  about  being  a  great  man,"  he  said, 
"but  I  want  to  find  out  really  what  it  is  I  can  do 
best,  and  then  it  will  be  my  own  fault  if  I  don't  do 
something  good." 

"  Yes,  my  boy  —  that  is  exactly  what  I  want  you 
to  feel,"  said  Fergus's  mother. 

But  Gratian  was  anxious  to  know  what  his  four 
friends  had  to  say  about  it. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  very  kind  of  none  of  you  to 
come  to  speak  to  me,"  he  said  aloud  on  his  way 


142  FOUR   WINDS    FARM. 

home.     "I  know  you're  not  far  off  —  all  of  you.     I'm 
sure  I  heard  Gray-wings  scolding  outside  last  night." 

A  sound  of  faint  laughter  up  above  him  seemed  to 
answer. 

"  Oh  there  you  are,  Gray-wings,  I  thought  as 
much,"  he  said,  buttoning  up  his  jacket,  for  it  was 
very  cold.  But  he  had  hardly  spoken  before  he 
heard,  nearer  than  the  laughter  had  been,  a  soft  sigh. 

"  I  never  forget  you  —  remember,  Gratian,  when- 
ever you  want  me  —  whenever  in  sor — row." 

"  That's  Green-wings,"  he  said  to  himself.     "  But 
why  should  she  talk  of  sorrow  when  I'm  so  happy  — 
happier  than   ever  in   my  life,   I   think.     She    is  of 
rather  too  melancholy  a  nature." 

He  ran  on  —  the  door  was  latched  —  he  hurried 
into  the  kitchen.  There  was  no  one  there. 

"  Where  can  mother  be?"  he  thought.  He  heard 
steps  moving  upstairs  and  turned  to  go  there.  Half- 
way up  he  met  Madge,  the  servant,  coming  down. 
Her  face  looked  anxious  and  distressed  through  all 
its  rosiness. 

"  Oh  the  poor  missis,"  she  said.  "  She's  had  to  go 
to  bed.  The  pains  in  her  ankles  and  knees  got  so 
bad — I'm  af eared  she's  going  to  be  really  very  ill." 

Gratian  ran  past  her  into  his  mother's  room. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  Mrs.  Conyfer  said  at  once. 
"  It's  only  that  my  rheumatism  is  very  bad  to-day. 
I'll  be  better  in  the  morning,  dear.  I  must  be  well 
with  you  going  away  so  soon." 


DRAWN    TWO    WAYS.  148 

And  when  the  farmer  came  in  she  met  him  with 
the  same  cheerful  tone,  though  it  was  evident  she 
was  suffering  severely. 

But  Gratian  sat  by  her  bedside  all  the  evening, 
doing  all  he  could.  He  was  grave  and  silent,  for  the 
thought  was  deep  in  his  heart  — 

"I  can't  go  away — I  can't  and  I  mustn't  if  mother 
is  going  to  be  really  ill.  Poor  mother !  I'm  sure 
my  godmothers  wouldn't  think  I  should." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

LEARNING  TO    WAIT. 

' ;  If  all  the  beauty  in  the  earth 

And  skies  and  hearts  of  men 

Were  gently  gathered  at  its  birth, 

And  loved  and  born  again." 

MATTHEW  BROWNE. 

BUT  the  godmothers  seemed  to  have  forgotten  him. 
He  went  sadly  to  bed  —  and  the  tears  came  to  his 
eyes  when  he  remembered  how  that  very  evening  he 
had  thought  of  himself  as  "happier  than  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life."  He  fell  asleep  however  as 
one  does  at  nine  years  old,  whatever  troubles  one 
has,  and  slept  soundly  for  some  hours.  Then  he  was 
awakened  by  his  door  opening  and  some  one  coming 
in.  It  was  his  father. 

"  Gratian,  wake  up.  Your  mother  is  very  ill  I'm 
afraid.  Some  one  must  go  for  the  doctor  —  old 
Jonas  is  the  nearest.  I  can't  leave  her  —  she  seems 
nearly  unconscious.  Dress  yourself  as  quick  as  you 
can,  and  tell  Jonas  to  bring  Dr.  Spense  as  soon  as 
possible." 

Gratian  was  up  and  dressed  almost  at  once.  He 
felt  giddy  and  miserable,  and  yet  with  a  strange 
feeling  over  him  that  he  had  known  it  all  before. 

144 


LEARNING    TO    WATT.  145 

He  dared  not  try  to  think  clearly  —  he  dared  not 
face  the  terrible  fear  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  It 
was  his  first  experience  of  real  trouble. 

As  he  hurried  off  he  met  Madge  at  the  door ; 
she  too  had  been  wakened  up.  A  sudden  thought 
struck  him. 

"Madge,"  he  said,  "if  I'm  not  back  quickly,  tell 
father  not  to  be  frightened.  I  think  I'll  go  all 
the  way  for  the  doctor  myself.  It'll  save  time  not 
to  go  waking  old  Jonas,  and  I  know  he  couldn't  go 
as  fast  as  I  can." 

Madge  looked  admiringly  and  yet  half-anxiously 
at  the  boy.  He  seemed  such  a  little  fellow  to  go  all 
that  way  alone  in  the  dark  winter  night. 

"  I  dare  say  you're  right,"  she  said,  "  and  yet  I'm 
half-afraid.  Hadn't  you  better  ask  master  first  ?  " 

Gratian  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  no.  It  will  be  all  right.  Don't  trouble  him 
about  me  unless  he  asks,"  and  off  he  ran. 

He  went  as  quickly  as  he  could  find  his  way  —  it 
was  not  a  very  dark  night  —  till  he  was  fairly  out  on 
the  moorland  path.  Then  he  stood  still. 

"  White-wings,  Green-wings  —  whichever  of  you 
hears  me,  come  and  help  me.  Dear  Green-wings, 
you  said  you  always  would  comfort  me." 

"So  she  would,  surely,"  said  a  voice,  firmer  and 
colder  than  hers,  but  kindly  too,  "  but  at  this  mo- 
ment it's  more  strength  than  comfort  that  you  want. 
Hold  out  your  arms,  my  boy,  there  —  clasp  me  tight, 


146  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

don't  start  at  my  cold  breath.  That's  right.  Why, 
I  can  fly  with  you  as  if  you  were  a  snow-flake !  " 

And  again  Gratian  felt  the  strange,  whirling,  rush- 
ing sensation,  again  he  closed  his  eyes  as  if  he  were 
falling  asleep,  and  knew  no  more  till  he  found  him- 
self standing  in  the  village  street,  a  few  doors  from 
the  doctor's  house,  and  felt,  rather  than  heard,  a 
clear  cold  whisper  of  "Farewell,  Gratian,  for  the 
present." 

And  the  next  morning  the  neighbours  spoke  of 
the  sudden  northern  blast  that  had  come  rushing 
down  from  the  moors  in  the  night,  and  wondered  it 
had  not  brought  the  snow  with  it,  little  thinking  it 
had  brought  a  little  boy  instead ! 

Dr.  Spense  was  soon  awakened,  and  long  as  the 
time  always  seems  to  an  anxious  watcher  by  a  sick- 
bed, Farmer  Conyfer  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears 
when  he  heard  the  rattle  of  the  dogcart  wheels  up 
the  steep  road,  or  his  eyes  when  the  doctor,  followed 
by  Gratian,  came  up  the  staircase. 

"  My  boy,  but  you  have  done  bravely !  "  said  the 
father  in  amazement.  "Doctor,  I  can't  understand 
how  he  can  have  been  so  quick  1 " 

The  doctor  turned  kindly  to  Gratian. 

"  Go  down,  my  good  child,  and  warm  yourself.  I 
saw  the  sparkle  of  a  nice  fire  in  the  kitchen  —  it  is  a 
bitter  night.  I  will  keep  my  promise  to  you ;  as  I 
go  away  I'll  look  in." 

For  Gratian,  though  not  able  to  tell  much  of  his 


LEARNING   TO    WAIT.  147 

mother's  illness,  had  begged  the  doctor  to  promise  to 
tell  him  the  truth  as  to  what  he  thought  of  her. 

"  I'd  rather  know,  sir,  I  would  indeed,  even  if  it's 
very  bad,"  he  had  said  tremblingly. 

And  as  he  sat  by  the  kitchen  lire  waiting,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  never  till  now  had  he  in  the 
least  understood  how  he  loved  his  mother. 

It  was  a  queer,  boisterous  night  surely.  For 
down  the  chimney,  well-built  and  well-seasoned  as 
it  was,  there  came  a  sudden  swirl  of  wind.  But 
strangely  enough  it  did  not  make  the  fire  smoke. 
And  Gratian,  anxious  though  he  Avas,  smiled  as  a 
pretty  green  light  seemed  suddenly  to  dance  among 
the  flames.  And  he  was  neither  surprised  nor 
startled  when  a  soft  voice  whispered  in  his  ear : 

"I  am  here,  my  darling.  I  would  come  for  one 
moment,  though  White-wings  has  been  trying  to 
blow  me  away.  Keep  up  your  heart  —  and  don't  lose 
hope." 

And  just  then  the  doctor  came  in. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  as  he  stood  warming  his  hands 
at  the  blaze,  "  I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  I  am  afraid 
your  poor  mother  is  going  to  be  ill  for  a  good  while. 
She  has  not  taken  care  of  herself.  But  I  have  good 
hopes  that  she  will  recover.  And  you  may  do  a 
good  deal.  I  see  you  are  sensible,  and  handy,  I  am 
sure.  You  must  be  instead  of  a  daughter  to  her 
for  a  while  —  it  will  be  hard  on  your  father,  and  you 
may  be  of  great  help." 


148  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

Gratian  thanked  him,  with  the  tears,  which  would 
not  now  be  kept  back,  in  his  eyes.  And  promising 
to  come  again  that  same  day,  for  it  was  now  past 
midnight,  the  doctor  went  away. 

Some  days  passed  —  the  fever  was  high  at  first, 
and  poor  Mrs.  Conyfer  suffered  much.  But  almost 
sooner  than  the  doctor  had  ventured  to  hope,  she 
began  to  get  a  little  better.  Within  a  week  she  was 
out  of  danger.  And  then  came  Fergus's  mother 
again.  She  had  already  come  to  ask  for  news  of 
her  little  friend's  mother,  and  in  the  first  great 
anxiety  she  said  nothing  of  the  plans  that  had  been 
made.  But  now  she  asked  to  see  the  farmer,  and 
talked  with  him  some  time  downstairs  while  Gratian 
watched  by  his  mother. 

"  I  am  so  thankful  to  be  better  —  so  very  thankful 
to  be  better  before  you  go,  Gratian,"  said  the  poor 
woman. 

"  Oh  yes,  dear  mother,  we  cannot  be  thankful 
enough,"  the  boy  replied.  u  I  will  never  forget  that 
night  —  the  night  you  were  so  very  ill,"  he  said  with 
a  shiver  at  the  thought  of  it. 

"I  shall  not  be  able  to  write  much  to  you,  my 
child,"  she  said.  "  The  doctor  says  my  hands  and 
joints  will  be  stiff  for  a  good  while,  but  that  I  must 
try  not  to  fret,  and  to  keep  an  easy  mind.  I  will 
try — but  it  won't  be  easy  for  me  that's  always 
been  so  stirring.  And  I  shall  miss  you  at  first,  of 
course.  But  if  you're  well  and  happy —  and  it  would 


LEARNING   TO    WAIT.  149 

have  been  sad  and  dull  for  you  here  with  me  so 
different." 

Just  then  the  farmer's  voice  came  sounding  up  the 
stairs. 

"  Gratian,"  it  said,  "  come  down  here." 

The  boy  obeyed.  But  first  he  stooped  and  kissed 
the  pale  face  on  the  pillow. 

"  Dear  mother,"  he  said. 

His  father  was  standing  by  the  kitchen  fire  when 
he  went  in,  and  the  lady  was  seated  in  one  of  the 
big  old  arm-chairs.  She  looked  at  him  with  fresh 
love  and  interest  in  her  sweet  blue  eyes. 

"  Dear  Gratian,"  she  said,  u  Fergus  is  fretting  for 
you  sadly.  Your  father  has  been  telling  me  what 
a  clever  sick-nurse  you  are.  And  indeed  I  was  sure 
of  it  from  your  way  with  Fergus.  I  am  so  very,  very 
glad  your  dear  mother  is  better." 

"  She  will  miss  him  a  good  deal  at  first,  I'm 
afraid,"  said  the  farmer,  "but  I  must  do  my  best. 
It's  about  your  going,  my  boy  —  the  lady  has  already 
put  it  off  some  days  for  your  sake.  It's  very  good 
of  you,  ma'am  —  very  good.  I'll  get  him  ready  as 
well  as  I  can.  You'll  excuse  it  if  his  things  are  not 
just  in  such  shipshape  order  as  his  mother  would 
have  had  them." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  she  replied.  "  Then  the 
day  after  to-morrow.  I  daren't  wait  longer  —  the 
doctor  says  Fergus  must  not  risk  more  cold  as 
yet." 


150  FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

Gratian  had  listened  in  silence.  But  now  he 
turned,  first  to  his  father  and  then  to  the  lady,  and 
spoke. 

"Father,  dear  lady,"  he  began,  " don't  be  vexed 
with  me  —  oh  don't.  But  I  can't  go  now.  I've 
thought  about  it  all  these  days  —  I'm  —  I'm  dread- 
fully sorry,"  and  here  his  voice  faltered.  "  I  wanted 
to  learn  and  to  understand.  But  it  wouldn't  be  right. 
I  know  it  wouldn't.  Mother  would  not  get  well  so 
quick  without  me,  perhaps  sheM  never  get  well  at 
all.  And  no  learning  or  seeing  things  would  do  me 
really  good  if  I  knew  I  wasn't  doing  right.  Father 
-  tell  me  that  you  think  I'm  right." 

The  lady  and  the  farmer  looked  at  each  other; 
there  were  tears  in  the  lady's  eyes. 

"  Is  he  right?"  asked  Gratian's  father. 

She  bent  her  head. 

"  I'm  afraid  he  is,"  she  said,  "  but  it  is  only  fair  to 
let  him  quite  understand.  It  isn't  merely  putting 
it  off  for  a  while,  Gratian,"  she  went  on  ;  u  I'm  afraid 
it  may  be  for  altogether.  We  are  not  likely  to  come 
back  to  this  part  of  the  country  again,  and  my  hus- 
band, though  kind,  is  a  little  peculiar.  He  has  a 
nephew  whom  he  will  send  for  as  a  companion  to 
Fergus  if  you  don't  come.  We  should  like  you 
better,  but  it  is  our  duty  to  do  something  for  Jack, 
and  Fergus  needs  a  companion,  so  it  seems  only 
natural  to  take  him  instead  of  sending  him  away  to 
school." 


LEARNING  TO  WAIT.  151 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  farmer,  looking  at  his  son. 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  said  Gratian.  "  But  it 
doesn't  make  any  difference.  If  I  never  learnt  any- 
thing more  —  of  learning,  I  mean  —  if  I  never  left 
Four  Winds  or  saw  any  of  the  beautiful  places  and 
things  in  the  world,  it  shouldn't  make  any  difference. 
I  couldn't  ever  be  happy  or  —  or  —  do  anything  really 
good  or  great,"  he  went  on,  blushing  a  little,  "if  I 
began  by  doing  wrong  —  could  I  ?  " 

"  He  is  right,"  said  his  father  and  Fergus's  mother 
together. 

And  so  it  was  settled. 

The  person  the  most  difficult  to  satisfy  that  he 
was  right  was  —  no,  not  Fergus  —  sorry  as  he  was  he 
loved  his  own  mother  too  much  not  to  agree  —  poor 
Mrs.  Conyfer  herself,  for  whom  the  sacrifice  was  to 
be  made.  Gratian  had  to  talk  to  her  for  ever  so 
long,  to  assure  her  that  it  was  for  his  own  sake  as 
well  —  that  he  would  have  been  too  miserable  about 
her  to  have  got  any  good  from  his  new  opportunities. 
And  in  the  end  she  gave  in,  and  allowed  herself  to 
enjoy  the  comfort  of  her  little  boy's  care  and  com- 
panionship during  her  long  weary  time  of  slow 
recovery. 

Fergus  and  his  mother  did  not  leave  a  day  too 
soon.  With  early  January  the  winter  spirits,  chained 
hitherto,  broke  forth  in  fury.  Never  had  such  falls 
of  snow  been  known  even  in  that  wild  region,  and 
many  a  night  Gratian,  lying  awake,  unable  to  sleep 


152  FOUR    WINDS   FARM. 

through  the  rattle  and  racket,  felt  a  strange  excite- 
ment at  the  thought  that  all  this  was  the  work  of 
his  mysterious  protectors. 

"  White-wings  and  Gray-wings  seem  really  going 
mad,"  he  thought  once  or  twice.  But  the  sound  of 
laughter,  mingling  with  the  whistling  and  roaring 
and  shrieking  in  the  chimney,  reassured  him. 

"  No  fear,  no  fear,"  he  seemed  to  hear  ;  "  we  must 
let  our  spirits  out  sometimes.  But  you'd  better  not 
go  to  school  for  a  day  or  two,  small  Gratian,  all  the 
same." 

And  several  "  days  or  two "  that  winter  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  go  to  school,  or  for  any  one  to 
come  to  the  Farm,  so  heavy  and  dark  even  at  mid- 
day were  the  storm-clouds,  so  deep  lay  the  treacher- 
ous snow-drifts.  Not  even  the  doctor  could  reach 
them.  But  fortunately  Mrs.  Conyfer  was  by  this 
time  much  better.  All  she  now  required  was  care 
and  rest. 

"  Oh,  mother  dear,  how  glad  I  am  that  I  did  not 
leave  you !  "  Gratian  would  often  say.  "  How  dull 
and  dreary  and  long  the  days  would  have  seemed ! 
You  couldn't  even  have  got  letters  from  me." 

And  the  lessons  he  learnt  in  that  winter  of  patient 
waiting,  of  quiet  watching  and  self-forgetfulness, 
bore  their  fruit. 

And  his  four  friends  did  not  forget  him.  There 
came  now  and  then  a  soft  breath  from  the  two  gentle 
sisters  whose  voices  were  hushed  to  all  others  for  a 


LEARNING   TO   WAIT.  153 

time,  and  more  than  once  in  some  mysterious  way 
Gratian  felt  himself  summoned  out  to  the  lonely 
moorland  by  the  two  whose  carnival  time  it  was. 

And  standing  out  there  with  the  great  sweep  of 
open  country  all  around  him,  with  his  hair  tossed  by 
White-wing's  giant  touch,  or  his  cheeks  tingling 
with  a  sharp  blast  from  mischievous  Gray-wings, 
Gratian  laughed  with  pleasure  and  daring  enjoy- 
ment. 

"  I  am  your  child  too  —  Spirits  of  the  North  and 
East.  You  can't  frighten  me.  I  defy  you." 

And  the  two  laughed  and  shouted  with  wild  glee 
at  their  foster-child's  great  spirit. 

"  He  does  us  credit,"  they  cried,  though  old  Jonas 
passing  by  heard  nothing  but  a  shriek  of  fresh  fury 
up  above,  and  shouted  to  Gratian  to  hasten  within 
shelter. 

But  winter  never  lasts  for  ever.  Spring  came 
again  —  slow  and  reluctant  —  and  it  was  long  before 
Gray-wings  consented  to  take  her  yearly  nap  and 
let  her  sister  of  the  west  soothe  and  comfort  the 
storm-tossed  country.  And  then,  as  day  by  day 
Gratian  made  his  way  to  school,  he  watched  with 
awakened  and  ever-awaking  eyes  the  exquisite 
eternal  beauty  of  the  summer's  gradual  approach, 
till  at  last  Golden-wings  clasped  him  in  her  arms 
one  morning  and  told  him  her  joy  at  being  able 
to  return. 

"  For   I   love    this    country,   though   no    one    will 


154  FOUR   WINDS   FAKM. 

believe  it,"  she  said.  "  The  scent  of  the  gorse  and 
the  heather  is  delicious  and  refreshing  after  the 
strong  spice  perfumes  of  my  own  home ;  "  and  many 
a  story  she  told  the  child,  and  many  a  song  she 
sang  to  him  through  the  long  summer  days  —  which 
he  loved  to  spend  in  his  old  way,  out  among  the 
heather  with  Jonas  and  Watch  and  the  browsing 
sheep. 

For  the  holidays  had  begun.  His  mother  was 
well,  quite  well,  by  now,  and  Gratian  was  free  to  do 
as  he  chose. 

He  was  out  on  the  moors  one  day  —  a  lovely 
cloudless  day,  that  would  have  been  sultry  any- 
where else  —  when  old  Jonas  startled  him  by  saying 
suddenly : 

"  Did  you  know,  Master  Gratian,  that  the  gentry's 
come  back  to  the  Big  House  ?  " 

Gratian  sat  straight  up  in  his  astonishment. 

"No,  Jonas.     How  did  you  hear  it?" 

"  Down  in  the  village,  quite  sudden-like.  It  was 
all  got  ready  for  them  last  week,  but  there's  been 
none  of  us  down  there  much  lately." 

Gratian  felt  too  excited  to  lie  still  and  dream  any 
more. 

"  I'll  ask  mother  if  I  may  go  and  see,"  he  said 
jumping  up.  And  off  he  ran.  But  an  unexpected 
sight  met  him  at  a  stone's  throw  from  the  Farm.  It 
was  Fergus,  little  lame  Fergus,  mounted  on  a  tiny 
rough-coated  pony,  coming  towards  him !  And  the 
joy  of  the  meeting  who  could  describe  ? 


IT  WAS  FERGUS,  LITTLE  LAME  FERGUS,  MOUNTED  ON  A  TINY  UOUGH- 
COATED  PONY,  COMING  TOWARDS  HIM! — p.  154. 


LEARNING  TO   WAIT.  155 

"  We  tried  to  keep  it  a  secret  till  it  was  quite 
sure,"  said  the  boy.  "There  was  some  difficulty 
about  it,  but  it  is  all  settled  now.  Father  has  taken 
the  Big  House  from  our  cousin,  and  we  are  to  live  at 
it  half  the  year.  We  are  all  there  —  my  sisters  — 
and  my  big  brother  comes  sometimes  —  and  mother 
of  course.  All  except  Jack.  Jack  has  gone  to  sea. 
He  was  very  nice,  but  he  hated  lessons  —  he  only 
wanted  to  go  to  sea.  So  we  want  you  now,  Gratian 
—  my  own  Gratian.  I  have  a  tutor,  and  you  are  to 
learn  with  me  all  the  summer  and  to  go  away  with 
us  in  the  winter  now  your  mother  is  well,  so  that 
you  will  find  out  what  you  want  to  be.  It  is  for  me 
we  have  come  here.  I  must  always  be  lame,  Gratian. 
The  doctors  can't  cure  me,"  and  the  bright  voice 
faltered.  "  But  I  shall  get  strong  all  the  same  if  I 
live  here  in  this  beautiful  air.  And  I  shall  be  very 
happy,  for  I  can  learn  to  play  on  the  organ  —  and 
that  makes  up  for  all." 

And  all  came  about  as  Fergus  said. 

The  summer  and  the  autumn  that  followed,  Gratian 
studied  with  his  friend's  tutor.  And  the  winter  after, 
greatly  to  his  mother's  joy,  he  went  away  as  had  been 
planned  before.  But  not  for  ever  of  course.  No 
great  length  of  time  passed  without  his  returning  to 
his  birthplace. 

"  I  should  die,"  he  said  sometimes,  "  if  I  could  not 
from  time  to  time  stand  at  the  old  porch  and  feel  the 
breath  of  the  four  winds  about  me." 


156  FOUR    WINDS    FAKM. 

This  is  only  the  story  of  the  very  opening  of  the 
life  of  a  boy  who  lived  to  make  his  mark  among  men. 
How  he  did  so,  how  he  found  his  voice,  it  is  not  for 
me  to  tell.  But  he  had  early  learnt  to  choose  the 
right,  and  so  we  know  he  prospered. 

Besides  —  was  he  not  the  godchild  of  the  Four 
Winds  of  Heaven? 


THE    END. 


Are 


are  you  a  mermaid  ,or  a— 
the 
f.  136 . 


are  you  a  Tnermaia,oT  ^ 

.._    olher  thing  ?'  a^ked  the 
child.  )J 


THE  'CHILDREN' 

'OF  "THE 'CASTLE' 
'BY' 

URS'JIQLESV/OKH 


ILLUSTRATED'  BY' 


SOME    ' '  FOR  GET-ME-NOTS  ' ' 

FOR 

ar  Uenetia 


19  SITMNER  PLACE,  S.W. 
19th  May,  1890 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

CHAPTER   I. 

RUBY    AND    MAVIS. 

"  Hast  thou  seen  that  lordly  castle, 

That  castle  by  the  sea  ? 
Golden  and  red  above  it 
The  clouds  float  gorgeously.'' 

Trans,  of  Uhland.  —  LONGFELLOW. 

Do  you  remember  Gratian  —  Gratian  Conyfer,  the 
godson  of  the  four  winds,  the  boy  who  lived  at  the 
old  farm-house  up  among  the  moors,  where  these 
strange  beautiful  sisters  used  to  meet?  Do  you 
remember  how  full  of  fancies  and  stories  Gratian's 
little  head  was,  and  how  sometimes  he  put  them  into 
words  to  please  Fergus,  the  lame  child  he  loved  so 
much?  The  story  I  am  now  going  to  tell  you  is  one 
of  these.  I  think  it  was  their  favourite  one.  I  can- 
not say  that  it  is  in  the  very  words  in  which  Gratian 
used  to  tell  it,  for  it  was  not  till  long,  long  after 
those  boyish  days  that  it  came  to  be  written  down. 
But  all  the  same  it  is  his  story. 

How  long  ago  it  was  I  cannot  say,  nor  can  I  tell 
you  exactly  where  it  was.  This  is  not  a  story  for 

l 


Z          THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

which  you  will  require  an  atlas,  nor  a  history  of 
England  or  of  any  other  country,  nor  a  dictionary  of 
dates.  All  those  wise  and  clever  and  useful  things 
you  may  put  out  of  your  heads  for  a  bit.  I  am  just 
going  to  tell  you  a  story.  It  was  somewhere  and 
somewhen,  and  I  think  that  will  do. 

The  "it"  was  a  castle  —  and  something  else.  But 
first  about  the  castle.  It  was  really  worthy  of  the 
name,  for  it  was  very  old  and  very  strong,  and  in 
ancient  days  it  had  been  used  as  a  place  of  defence, 
and  had  a  look  about  it  of  not  having  forgotten  this. 
(I  am  afraid  this  sounds  a  very  little  historical.  I 
must  take  care.)  It  was  very  big  too,  towering  over 
the  sea-washed  cliffs  on  which  it  stood  as  if  defying 
the  winds  and  the  waves  to  do  their  worst,  frowning 
at  them  with  the  little  round  window-eyes  of  its  tur- 
rets^ like  a  cross  old  ogre.  But  it  was  a  two-faced 
castle ;  it  was  only  on  one  side  —  the  rocky  side, 
where  the  cliffs  went  down  precipitously  to  the 
water  —  that  it  looked  grim  and  forbidding.  Inland, 
you  could  scarcely  have  believed  it  was  the  same 
castle  at  all.  For  here,  towards  the  sunny  south,  it 
seemed  to  change  into  a  gracious,  comfortable,  hospi- 
tably-inviting mansion ;  it  did  not  look  nearly  so 
high  on  this  side,  for  the  ivy-covered  turrets  had 
more  the  effect  of  dimly  dark  trees  in  the  back- 
ground, and  the  bright  wide-windowed  rooms  opened 
on  to  trim  lawns  and  terraces  gay  with  flowers. 
That  was  the  case  in  summer-time  at  least.  The 


RUBY   AND    MAVIS.  3 

whole  look  of  things  varied  a  good  deal  according  to 
the  seasons.  In  winter,  grim  as  it  was,  I  don't  know 
but  that  the  fortress-front,  so  to  speak,  of  the  great 
building  had  the  best  of  it.  For  it  was  grand  to 
watch  the  waves  breaking  down  below  when  you 
knew  you  were  safe  and  cosy  behind  the  barred  panes 
of  the  turret  windows,  those  windows  pierced  in  the 
walls  throng1]!  such  a  thickness  of  stone  that  each 

O 

was  like  a  little  room  within  a  room.  And  even  in 
winter  there  were  wonderful  sunsets  to  be  seen  from 
the  children's  favourite  turret-room  —  the  one  which 
had  two  windows  to  the  west  and  only  one  to  the 
cold  north. 

For  the  "  something  else  "  was  the  children.  Much 
more  interesting  than  the  castle  —  indeed,  what 
would  any  castle  or  any  house  be  without  them? 
Not  that  the  castle  was  not  a  very  interesting  place 
to  live  in,  as  you  will  hear,  but  all  places,  I  think, 
need  people  to  bring  out  their  interest.  People  who 
have  been,  sometimes,  and  sometimes,  people  that 
still  are.  There  was  a  mixture  of  both  in  my  castle. 
But  first  and  foremost  I  will  tell  you  of  the  children, 
whose  home  it  was,  and  perhaps  is  yet. 

There  were  only  two  of  them,  only  two,  that  is  to 
say,  who  lived  there  regularly ;  they  were  girls,  twin- 
sisters,  Ruby  and  Mavis  were  their  names,  and  at 
this  time  they  were  nearly  twelve  years  old.  I  will 
not  say  much  in  description  of  them,  it  is  best  to  let 
you  find  out  about  them  for  yourselves.  They  were 


THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

almost  exactly  the  same  size ;  Ruby  perhaps  a  very 
little  the  taller,  and  at  first  sight  every  one  thought 
them  exceedingly  like  each  other.  And  so  they 
were,  so  far  as  the  colour  of  their  hair,  the  shape  of 
their  features,  their  eyes  and  complexions  went. 
They  were  pretty  little  girls,  and  they  made  a  pretty 
pair.  But  the  more  you  got  to  know  them  the  less 
alike  you  got  to  think  them,  till  at  last  you  began  to 
wonder  how  you  ever  could  have  thought  them  like 
at  all !  And  even  almost  at  the  first  glance  some 
differences  were  to  be  seen.  Ruby  was  certainly  the 
prettier.  Her  eyes  were  brighter,  her  colour  more 
brilliant,  her  way  of  walking  and  holding  herself 
more  graceful,  even  her  very  manner  of  talking  was 
more  interesting  and  attractive. 

"What  a  charming  child  she  is,"  said  strangers 
always.  "  Such  pretty  winning  ways,  so  sweet  and 
unselfish,  so  clever  and  intelligent !  What  a  pity 
that  dull  little  Mavis  is  not  more  like  her  —  why,  I 
thought  them  the  image  of  each  other  at  first,  and 
now  I  can  scarcely  believe  they  are  sisters.  I  am 
sure  poor  Ruby  must  find  Mavis  very  trying,  she  is 
so  stupid ;  but  Ruby  is  so  good  and  patient  with  her 
—  it  quite  adds  another  charm  to  the  dear  child." 

This  opinion  or  one  like  it  was  always  the  first 
expressed  —  well,  perhaps  not  always,  but  almost 
always.  Now  I  will  let  you  judge  for  yourselves. 

It  was  late  autumn.  So  late,  that  one  felt  inclined 
to  wish  it  were  already  winter,  without  any  thought 


KUBY   AND   MAVIS.  5 

or  talk  of  a  milder  season.  For  it  was  very  cold,  and 
thick-walled  though  the  castle  was,  it  needed  any 
amount  of  huge  fires  and  curtains  in  front  of  the 
doorways  and  double  windows,  and,  in  the  modern 
rooms,  hot  air  or  water-pipes  to  make  it  comfortable 
in  severe  weather.  And  all  these  things  in  winter  it 
had.  But  the  housekeeper  had  rather  old-fashioned 
and  stiff  ideas.  She  did  everything  by  rule.  On  a 
certain  day  in  the  autumn  the  winter  arrangements 
were  begun,  on  a  certain  day  in  the  spring  they  came 
to  an  end.  And  this,  whatever  the  weather  was,  — 
not  a  very  good  plan,  for  as  everybody  knows,  the 
weather  itself  is  not  so  formal  and  particular.  There 
are  quite  warm,  mild  days  sometimes  in  late  Novem- 
ber, and  really  bitterly  cold  ones  in  April  and  May. 
But  there  would  have  been  no  manner  of  use  in  try- 
ing to  make  old  Bertha  see  this.  Winter  should  stop 
on  a  certain  day,  and  summer  should  come,  and  vice 
versd.  It  had  always  been  so  in  her  time,  and  Bertha 
did  not  like  new-fangled  ways. 

So  everybody  shivered,  and  the  more  daring  ones, 
of  whom  Ruby  was  the  foremost,  scolded  and 
grumbled.  But  it  was  no  use. 

"  You  may  as  well  try  to  bear  it  patiently,  my 
dear,"  said  cousin  Hortensia,  "  the  mild  weather  must 
come  soon.  I  will  lend  you  one  of  my  little  shawls 
if  you  like.  You  will  feel  warmer  when  you  have 
been  out  for  a  run." 

Cousin  Hortensia  was  the  lady  who  lived  at  the 


6  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

castle  to  teach  and  take  care  of  the  two  little  girls. 
For  their  mother  was  dead  and  their  father  was  often 
away.  He  had  some  appointment  at  the  court.  I 
am  not  sure  what  it  was,  but  he  was  considered  a  very 
important  person.  He  was  kind  and  good,  as  you 
will  see,  and  it  was  always  a  great  delight  to  the 
children  when  he  came  home,  and  a  great  sorrow 
when  he  had  to  leave. 

Cousin  Hortensia  was  only  a  very  far-off  cousin, 
but  the  children  always  called  her  so.  For  though 
she  was  really  with  them  as  a  governess  as  well  as  a 
friend,  it  would  not  have  seemed  so  nice  to  call  her 
by  any  other  name.  She  was  very  gentle,  and  took 
the  best  care  she  could  of  them.  •  And  she  was  clever 
and  taught  them  well.  But  she  was  rather  a  dreamy 
sort  of  person.  She  had  lived  for  many  years  a  very 
quiet  life,  and  knew  little  of  the  outside  world.  She 
had  known  and  loved  the  twins'  mother,  and  their 
father  too,  when  they  were  but  boy  and  girl,  for  she 
was  no  longer  young.  And  she  loved  Ruby  and 
Mavis,  Ruby  especially,  so  dearly,  that  she  could  see 
no  fault  in  them.  It  was  to  Ruby  she  was  speaking 
and  offering  a  shawl.  They  were  sitting  in  one  of 
the  rooms  on  the  south  side  of  the  castle,  sheltered 
from  the  stormy  winds  which  often  came  whirling 
down  from  the  north.  But  even  here  it  was  cold,  or 
at  least  chilly. 

Ruby  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  You  always  offer  me  a  shawl  as  if  I  were  seventy, 


RUBY   AND    MAVIS.  7 

cousin  Hortensia,"  she  said  rather  pertly.  "It  would 
be  much  better  if  you  would  speak  to  Bertha,  and 
insist  on  her  having  the  fires  lighted  now  it  is  so  cold. 
When  I'm  grown  up  I  can  tell  you  /  won't  stand  the 
old  thing's  tyranny." 

Cousin  Hortensia  looked  rather  distressed.  There 
was  some  sense  in  what  Ruby  said,  but  there  were  a 
great  many  other  things  to  be  considered,  all  of 
which  she  could  not  explain  to  the  children.  Bertha 
was  an  exceedingly  valuable  servant,  and  if  she  were 
interfered  with  and  went  away  it  would  be  almost 
impossible  to  get  any  one  like  her.  For  it  was  neces- 
sary that  the  castle  should  be  managed  with  economy 
as  well  as  care. 

"I  would  speak  to  Bertha  if  there  was  anything 
really  important  to  complain  of,"  she  said.  "  But 
this  weather  cannot  last,  and  you  are  not  cold  at 
night,  are  you  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mavis,  "not  at  all." 

"  Bertha  would  never  get  all  the  work  done  unless 
she  took  her  own  way,"  Miss  Hortensia  went  on. 
"  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Ruby.  I  will  have 
the  fire  lighted  in  my  own  little  room.  I  don't  need 
to  trouble  Bertha  about  that,  thanks  to  your  kind 
father's  thoughtf illness.  My  little  wood-cupboard  is 
always  kept  filled  by  Tim.  And  when  you  come  in 
from  your  walk  we  will  have  tea  there  instead  of 
here,  and  spend  a  cosy  evening." 

Ruby  darted  at  Miss  Hortensia  and  kissed  her. 


8  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

"  That  will  be  lovely,"  she  said.  "  And  as  it's  to 
be  a  sort  of  a  treat  evening,  do  tell  us  a  story  after 
tea,  dear  cousin." 

"  If  you're  not  tired,"  put  in  Mavis.  "  Cousin 
Hortensia  had  a  headache  this  morning,"  she  said  to 
Ruby,  turning  to  her. 

"  Rubbish ! "  cried  Ruby,  but  she  checked  herself 
quickly.  "  I  don't  mean  that,"  she  went  on,  "  but 
Mavis  is  such  a  kill-joy.  You  won't  be  tired  will 
you,  dear  cousin  ?  Mavis  doesn't  care  for  stories 
as  much  as  I  do.  I've  read  nearly  all  the  books  in 
the  library,  and  she  never  reads  if  she  can  help  it." 

"  I've  enough  to  do  with  my  lesson-books,"  said 
Mavis  with  a  sigh.  "  And  I  can  scarcely  ever  find 
stories  to  read  that  I  understand.  But  I  like  hearing 
stories,  for  then  I  can  ask  what  it  means  if  there 
comes  a  puzzling  part." 

"  Poor  Mavis  !  "  said  Ruby  contemptuously,  "  she's 
always  getting  puzzled." 

"  We  must  try  to  make  your  wits  work  a  little 
quicker,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Hortensia.  "  You 
will  get  to  like  reading  when  you  are  older,  I  dare 
say.  I  must  look  out  for  some  easier  story-books  for 
you." 

"  But  I  love  hearing  stories,  cousin,"  said  Mavis. 
"  Please  don't  think  that  I  don't  like  your  stories.  I 
do  so  like  that  one  about  when  you  came  to  the  castle 
once  when  you  were  a  little  girl  and  about  the  dream 
you  had." 


RUBY   AND   MAVIS.  9 

"  I  don't  care  for  stories  about  dreams,"  said  Ruby. 
"  I  like  to  hear  about  when  cousin  Hortensia  was  a 
young  lady  and  went  to  balls  at  the  court.  I  would 
love  to  have  beautiful  dresses  and  go  to  the  court. 
Do  you  think  father  will  take  me  when  I'm  grown 
up,  cousin  Hortensia  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  he  will.  You  will  both  go,  probably," 
Miss  Hortensia  replied.  "  But  you  must  not  think 
too  much  of  it  or  you  may  be  disappointed.  Your 
mother  was  very  beautiful  and  everybody  admired 
her  when  she  went  out  in  the  world,  but  she  always 
loved  best  to  be  here  at  the  castle." 

Ruby  made  a  face. 

"  Then  I  don't  think  I'm  like  her,"  she  said.  "  I'm 
very  tired  of  this  stupid  old  place  already.  And  if 
you  tell  your  dream-story  to  Mavis,  you  must  tell  me 
the  one  about  how  mother  looked  when  she  went  to 
her  first  ball.  She  was  dressed  all  in  white,  wasn't 
she?" 

"  No,"  Mavis  answered.  "  In  blue  —  wavy,  chang- 
ing blue,  like  the  colour  the  sea  is  sometimes." 

"Blue"  Ruby  repeated,  "  what  nonsense  !  Isn't  it 
nonsense,  cousin  Hortensia  ?  Didn't  our  mother  wear 
all  white  at  her  first  ball  —  everybody  does." 

Miss  Hortensia  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  said.  "Who  ever  told  you 
she  wore  blue,  Mavis  ?  " 

Mavis  grew  very  red. 

"I  wasn't  speaking  of  our  mother,"  she  said.     "It 


10  THE    ClIILDllEN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

was  the  lady  you  saw  in  your  dream  I  meant,  cousin 
Hortensia." 

"  You  silly  girl !  "  said  Ruby.     "  Isn't  she  stupid  ?  " 

Mavis  looked  ready  to  cry. 

"  You  must  get  out  of  that  habit  of  not  listening 
to  what  people  say,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Hortensia. 
"  Now  you  had  better  both  go  out  —  wrap  up  warmly, 
and  don't  stay  very  long,  and  when  you  come  in  you 
will  find  me  in  my  own  room." 

"  And  you'll  tell  us  stories,  won't  you,  dear  good 
cousin  ? "  said  Ruby  coaxingly,  as  she  put  up  her 
pretty  face  for  a  kiss.  "  If  you'll  tell  me  my  story, 
you  may  tell  Mavis  hers  afterwards." 

"Well,  well,  we'll  see,"  said  Miss  Hortensia, 
smiling. 

"I  do  so  like  the  story  of  the  blue  lady,"  said 
Mavis,  very  softly,  as  they  left  the  room. 

Five  minutes  later  the  twins  were  standing  under 
the  great  archway  which  led  to  the  principal  entrance 
to  the  castle.  At  one  end  this  archway  opened  on 
to  a  winding  road  cut  in  the  rock,  at  the  foot  of 
which  was  a  little  sandy  cove  —  a  sort  of  refuge 
among  the  cliffs.  On  each  side  of  it  the  waves  broke 
noisily,  but  they  never  entirely  covered  the  cove, 
even  at  very  high  tides,  and  except  in  exceedingly 
rough  and  stormy  weather  the  water  rippled  in 
gently,  as  if  almost  .asking  pardon  for  intruding  at 
all.  When  the  sea  was  out  there  was  a  scrambling 
path  among  the  rocks  to  the  left,  by  which  one  could 


RUBY    AND    MAVIS.  11 

make  one's  way  to  a  little  fishing-hamlet  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  off  on  the  west.  For,  as  I  should 
have  explained  before,  the  castle  stood  almost  at  a 
corner,  the  coast-line  turning  sharply  southwards, 
after  running  for  many  miles  almost  due  east  and 
west. 

The  proper  way  to  this  hamlet  was  by  the  same 
inland  road  which  led  to  the  castle,  and  which,  so 
the  legend  ran,  was  much  more  modern  than  the 
building  itself,  much  more  modern  at  least  than  the 
north  side  of  it.  That  grim  fortress-like  front  was 
very  ancient.  It  had  been  built  doubtless  for  a  safe 
retreat,  and  originally  had  only  been  accessible  from 
the  sea,  being  in  those  days  girt  round  on  'the  land 
side  by  enormous  walls,  in  which  was  no  entrance  of 
any  kind.  A  part  of  these  walls,  ivy-clad  and 
crumbling,  still  remained,  but  sufficient  had  been 
pulled  down  to  give  space  for  the  pleasant  sunny 
rooms  and  the  sheltered  garden  with  its  terraces. 

Ruby  shivered  as  she  and  Mavis  stood  a  moment 
hesitating  in  the  archway. 

"It  is  cold  here,"  she  said;  "the  wind  seems  to 
come  from  everywhere  at  once.  Which  way  shall 
we  go,  Mavis  ?  " 

"It  would  be  a  little  warmer  at  the  back,  perhaps," 
said  Mavis.  "  But  I  don't  care  much  for  the  gardens 
on  a  dull  day  like  this." 

"Nor  do  I,"  said  Ruby,  "there's  nothing  to  see. 
Now  at  the  front  it's  almost  nicer  on  a  dull  day  than 


12         THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

when  it's  sunny  —  except  of  course  for  the  cold. 
Let's  go  down  to  the  cove,  Mavis,  and  see  how  it 
feels  there." 

It  was  curious  that  they  always  spoke  of  the  for- 
tress side  as  the  front,  even  though  the  southern  part 
of  the  building  was  what  would  have  naturally 
seemed  so. 

"  I'd  like  to  stay  out  till  sunset  and  see  the  colours 
up  in  the  turret  windows,"  said  Mavis,  as  they  clam- 
bered down  the  rocky  path.  "  I  wish  I  knew  which 
of  these  rooms  is  the  one  where  the  blue  fairy  lady 
used  to  come.  I  do  think  cousin  Hortensia  might 
have  found  out." 

"  Rubbish  !  "  said  Ruby.  It  was  rather  a  favourite 
expression  of  hers,  I  am  afraid.  "  I  don't  believe 
cousin  Hortensia  ever  saw  her.  It  was  all  a  fancy 
because  she  had  heard  about  it.  If  ever  she  did 
come,  it  was  ages  and  ages  ago,  and  I  don't  believe 
she  did  even  then.  I  don't  believe  one  bit  about 
spirits  and  fairies  and  dreams  and  things  like  that." 

Mavis  said  nothing,  but  a  puzzled,  disappointed 
look  crept  into  her  eyes. 

"  Perhaps  it's  because  I'm  stupid,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
shouldn't  like  to  think  like  you,  Ruby.  And  you 
know  the  story  wouldn't  have  come  all  of  itself,  and 
cousin  Hortensia,  though  she  calls  it  a  dream,  can't 
really  explain  it  that  way." 

"  If  you  know  so  much  about  it,  why  do  you  keep 
teasing  to  have  it  told  again?"  said  Ruby  impatiently. 


RUBY   AND   MAVIS.  13 

"  Well,  here  we  are  at  the  cove  ;  what  are  we  to  do 
now?" 

Mavis  looked  about  her.  It  was  chilly,  and  the 
sky  was  gray,  but  over  towards  the  wrest  there  was  a 
lightening.  The  wind  came  in  little  puffs  down  here, 
now  and  again  only,  for  they  were  well  under  the 
shelter  of  the  cliffs.  And  up  above,  the  old  c*stle 
frowning  down  upon  them  —  his  own  children,  Avhose 
ancestors  he  had  housed  and  sheltered  and  protected 
for  years  that  counted  by  centuries  —  suddenly  seemed 
to  give  a  half  unwilling  smile.  It  was  a  ray  of  thin 
afternoon  sunshine  striking  across  the  turret  windows. 

"  See,  see,"  said  Mavis.  "  The  sun's  coming  out. 
I'm  sure  the  sky  must  be  pretty  and  bright  round 
where  the  cottages  are.  The  sea's  quite  far  enough 
back,  and  it's  going  out.  Do  let  us  go  and  ask  how 
the  baby  —  Joan's  baby,  I  mean  —  is  to-day." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ruby.  "  Not  that  I  care  much 
how  the  baby  is,  but  there's  rather  a  nice  scrambly 
way  home  up  behind  Joan's  house.  I  found  it  one 
day  when  you  had  a  cold  and  weren't  with  me.  It 
brings  3^011  out  down  by  the  stile  into  the  little  fir- 
wood —  just  where  you'd  never  expect  to  find  your- 
self. And  oh,  Mavis,  there's  such  a  queer  little 
cottage  farther  along  the  shore,  at  least  just  above 
the  shore  that  way.  I  saw  it  from  the  back,  along 
the  scrambly  path." 

"  I  wonder  whose  it  is,"  said  Mavis.  "  I  don't 
remember  any  cottage  that  way.  Oh  yes,  I  think  I 


14  THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

remember  passing  it  one  day  long  ago  when  Joan 
was  our  nurse,  and  she  made  me  run  on  quick,  but 
she  didn't  say  why." 

"  Perhaps  it's  haunted,  or  some  nonsense  like  that," 
said  Ruby  with  her  contemptuous  air.  "I'll  ask 
Joan  to-day.  And  if  we  pass  it  I'll  walk  just  as  slow 
as  e^er  I  can  on  purpose.  You'll  see,  Mavis." 

"  We'd  better  run  now,"  said  Mavis.  "  The  sands 
are  pretty  firm  just  here,  and  cousin  Hortensia  said 
we  were  to  make  ourselves  warm.  Let's  have  a 
race." 

They  had  left  the  cove  and  were  making  their 
way  to  the  hamlet  by  the  foot  of  the  rocks,  where  at 
low  tide  there  was  a  narrow  strip  of  pebbly  sand, 
only  here  and  there  broken  by  out-jutting  crags 
which  the  children  found  it  very  amusing  to  clamber 
over.  Their  voices  sounded  clear  and  high  in  the* 
air.  For  the  wind  seemed  to  have  fallen  with  the 
receding  tide.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  cot- 
tages they  were  both  in  a  glow,  and  Ruby  had  quite 
forgotten  her  indignation  at  old  Bertha's  tireless 
rooms. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WINFRIED. 

"  And  somewhat  southward  toward  the  noon, 
Whence  lies  a  way  up  to  the  moon  ; 
And  thence  the  fairy  can  as  soon 

Pass  to  the  earth  below  it." 

DRAYTON. 

JOAN,  a  pleasant-faced  young  woman  who  had 
once  been  the  children's  nurse,  and  was  now  married 
to  a  fisherman  who  owned  several  boats,  and  was  a 
person  of  some  consequence  among  the  villagers,  was 
standing  at  the  door  of  her  cottage  with  a  baby  in 
her  arms  as  the  children  came  up.  Her  face  beamed 
with  smiles,  but  before  she  had  time  to  speak  Ruby 
called  out  to  her. 

"  How  are  you,  Joan  ?  We've  come  round  to  ask 
how  baby  is,  but  it's  very  easy  to  see  he  is  better, 
otherwise  you  wouldn't  be  so  smiling." 

"  And  here  he  is  to  speak  for  himself,  Miss  Ruby," 
said  Joan.  "  How  very  kind  of  you  to  think  of  him  ! 
And  you  too,  Miss  Mavis,  my  dear.  Are  you  both 
quite  well  ?  " 

"Yes,  thank  you,  Joan,"  said  Mavis  quietly.  But 
Ruby  was  fussing  about  the  baby,  admiring  him  and 
petting  him  in  a  way  that  could  scarcely  fail  to  gain 

15 


16  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

his  mother's  heart.  Joan,  however,  though  fond  of 
both  the  children,  had  plenty  of  discernment.  She 
smiled  at  Ruby  —  "  Miss  Ruby  has  pretty  ways  with 
her,  there's  no  denying,"  she  told  her  husband  after- 
wards, —  but  there  was  a  very  gentle  tone  in  her 
voice  as  she  turned  to  Mavis. 

"You've  had  no  more  headaches,  I  hope,  Miss 
Mavis?  Have  you  been  working  hard  at  your  les- 

?55 

"  I  have  to  work  hard  if  I  work  at  all,  Joan,"  said 
the  little  girl  rather  sadly. 

"  She's  so  stupid,"  said  Ruby ;  "  and  she  gets  her 
head  full  of  fancies.  I  dare  say  that  prevents  her 
having  room  for  sensible  things.  Oh,  by-the-bye, 
Joan,  tell  us  who  lives  in  that  queer  cottage  all  by 
itself  some  way  farther  along  the  coast.  I  never 
saw  it  till  the  other  day  —  it's  almost  hidden  among 
the  rocks.  But  Mavis  says  she  once  passed  it  with 
you,  and  you  made  her  run  by  quickly.  Why  did 
you,  Joan  ?  I  do  so  want  to  know." 

Joan  looked  rather  at  a  loss. 

"  You  mean  old  Adam's  cottage,"  she  said.  "  I 
really  don't  know  why  people  speak  against  him. 
He's  never  done  any  harm,  indeed,  he's  a  kind  old 
man.  But  he's  come  from  a  long  way  off,  and  he's 
not  like  the  other  folk,  and  they  got  up  a  tale  that 
there  were  queer  sounds  and  sights  in  his  cottage 
sometimes  —  singing  and  lights  late  at  night,  that 
couldn't  be  canny.  Some  spoke  of  mermaids  swim- 


WINFRIED.  17 

ming  down  below  in  front  of  his  hut  and  him  stand- 
ing talking  to  them  quite  friendly-like.  But  that's 
a  good  while  ago  now,  and  I  think  it's  forgotten. 
And  he  goes  to  church  regularly.  You'll  -always  be 
sure  of  seeing  him  there." 

"  Then  why  don't  people  like  him  ?  "  said  Mavis. 

"  Perhaps  it's  just  because  he  is  good  and  goes  to 
church,"  said  Ruby.  "  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  I 
like  extra  good  people  myself.  They're  so  tiresome." 

"  He's  not  one  to  meddle  with  others,"  said  Joan. 
"  He  keeps  very  much  to  himself,  and  his  talking 
doesn't  sound  like  ours.  So  they  call  him  a  foreigner. 
Indeed,  he's  often  not  heard  of  or  seen  for  weeks  and 
even  months  at  a  time,  unless  any  one's  ill  or  in 
trouble,  and  then  he  seems  to  know  it  all  of  himself, 
and  comes  to  see  if  he  can  help.  That's  one  reason 
why  they  think  him  uncanny." 

"Did  he  come  when  baby  was  ill?"  asked  Ruby. 

Joan  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  for  a  wonder  he  didn't." 

"  Perhaps  he's  dead,"  said  Ruby  indifferently. 
"  We're  going  past  that  way,  Mavis.  Let's  peep  in 
and  see." 

Mavis  grew  rather  pale. 

"Ruby,"  she  said,  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  —  you 
frighten  me." 

"  Miss  Ruby  would  be  frightened  herself.  She's 
only  joking,"  said  Joan.  "I  don't  suppose  there's 
aught  the  matter,  still  I  don't  think  you'd  better 


18  THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

stop  at  old  Adam's.     It  isn't  like  as  if  he  was  one 
of  our  own  folk." 

"Rubbish!"  said  Ruby  again.  "I'm  off.  You 
can  send  your  husband  to  see  if  the  old  wizard  has 
turned  us  into  frogs  or  sea-gulls,  in  case  we  are  not 
heard  of  any  more.  Good-night ;  "  and  off  she  ran. 

Mavis  had  to  follow  her.  There  was  not  much 
fear  of  Ruby's  really  doing  anything  rash,  for  she  was 
by  no  means  a  very  brave  child,  still  Mavis  always 
felt  uncomfortable  when  her  sister  got  into  one  of 
these  wild  moods. 

"  Good-bye,  Joan,"  she  said  gently.  "  I'm  so  glad 
baby's  better.  I  dare  say  Ruby's  only  joking ;  "  and 
then  she  ran  along  the  path,  which  just  here  in  the 
hamlet  was  pretty  level  and  smooth,  after  Ruby. 

They  had  quite  half  a  mile  to  go  before  they  got 
to  the  lonely  cottage.  It  stood  some  way  back  from 
the  shore,  and  great  craggy  rocks  near  at  hand 
almost  hid  it  from  sight.  One  might  have  passed  by 
that  way  often  without  noticing  that  there  was  any 
human  dwelling-place  there.  But  the  children  were 
on  the  look-out. 

"  There,"  said  Ruby,  "  the  old  ogre  can't  be  dead  : 
there's  smoke  coming  out  of  the  chimney.     And  - 
oh,  just  look,  Mavis,  what  a  big  fire  he  must  have; 
do  you  seethe  red  of  it  in  the  window?" 

"  No,"  said  Mavis,  "  it's  the  sun  setting.  Look  out 
to  sea  —  isn't  it  splendid?" 

But  Ruby  had  set  her  heart  upon  exploring   the 


WINFRIED.  19 

fisherman's  hut.  She  began  scrambling  up  the 
stones,  for  there  was  really  nothing  worthy  of  the 
name  of  a  pathway,  quite  regardless  of  the  beautiful 
sight  behind  her.  And  as  usual,  Mavis  had  to  follow, 
though  reluctantly.  Still  she  was  not  quite  without 
curiosity  about  the  lonely  cottage  herself.  Suddenly, 
when  within  a  short  distance  of  the  hut,  Ruby 
stopped  short,  and  glancing  back  towards  her  sister, 
lifted  her  hand  as  if  to  tell  her  to  be  silent  and 
listen.  Then  Mavis  became  conscious  of  the  sound 
of  voices  speaking  —  not  old  Adam's  voice  certainly, 
for  these  sounded  soft  and  clear,  and  now  and  then 
came  a  ripple  of  silvery  laughter,  very  sweet  and 
very  delicate.  The  little  girls,  who  had  drawn  near 
together,  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?  "  said  Mavis  in  a  whisper. 

"  The  mermaids,"  replied  Ruby  mockingly.  "  Per- 
haps old  Adam  has  invited  them  to  tea." 

But  as  she  spoke  there  came  distinctly  the  sound 
of  the  words  "  Good-bye,  good-bye,"  and  then  there 
was  silence. 

Somehow  both  children  felt  rather  frightened. 

"  Suppose  old  Adam's  really  dead,"  said  Ruby, 
looking  rather  pale,  "  and  that  these  are  —  fairies,  or 
I  don't  know  what,  come  to  fetch  him." 

"  Angels,"  said  Mavis.  "  Joan  says  he's  good. 
But  —  Ruby  —  I  shouldn't  think  angels  would 
laugh." 

She  had  scarcely  said   the  words  when  they  saw 


20  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

running  down  the  rough  slope  from  the  hut  the 
figure  of  a  boy.  He  ran  fast  and  lightly,  his  feet 
scarcely  seeming  to  touch  the  stones ;  he  was 
slight  and  very  active-looking ;  it  was  pretty  to 
watch  him  running,  even  though  as  he  came  close 
it  was  plain  that  he  was  only  a  simple  fisher-boy, 
in  rough  clothes,  barefoot  and  sunburnt.  He  slack- 
ened his  pace  a  little  as  he  came  near  the  children, 
then  glancing  at  them  with  a  smile  he  lifted  his  dark 
blue  cap  and  stopped  short. 

"  Can  I  —  ?  "  lie  began,  then  hesitated.  He  had 
a  pleasant  face  and  clear  gray  eyes,  which  looked  one 
straight  in  the  face  with  interest  and  inquiry. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  Ruby  rather  haughtily. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  had  lost  your  way,"  he 
answered  quietly.  "  There's  not  many  gentry  comes 
round  here  ;  "  and  then  he  smiled,  for  no  very  par- 
ticular reason  apparently,  though  his  smile  never- 
theless gave  one  the  feeling  that  he  had  a  reason 
if  he  chose  to  give  it. 

"  No,  we  haven't  lost  our  way,"  said  Ruby  ;  "  we 
came  here  on  purpose.  Do  you  know  the  old  man 
who  lives  up  there  ? "  and  she  pointed  to  the  hut. 
"  Is  it  true  that  there's  something  queer  about  him  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  at  her,  still  smiling. 

"  Queer?  "  he  repeated.  ^ 

Ruby  began  to  feel  annoyed.  She  tapped  her  foot 
impatiently. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  queer.     Why  do  you  repeat  my 


1 ?  '  Toe  Ij 

"kesitatecL  - 


WINFRIED.  21 

words,  and  why  don't  you  say  '  Miss,'  or  '  My  Lady  '  ? 
Lots  of  the  people  here  call  me  '  My  Lady.'  Do  you 
know  who  I  am  ?  " 

The  boy's  face  had  grown  graver. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  You  are  the  little  ladies  from 
the  castle.  I  have  seen  you  sometimes.  I  have  seen 
you  in  church.  We  always  call  you  the  little  ladies 
—  grandfather  and  I  —  when  we  are  talking.  He 
has  told  me  about  you  —  and —  I've  heard  about  the 
castle,  though  I've  never  been  in  it.  It's  very  fine.  I 
like  to  look  up  at  it  from  the  sea." 

Ruby  felt  a  little  smoothed  down.  Her  tone  be- 
came more  gracious.  Mavis,  who  had  drawn  near, 
stood  listening  with  great  interest,  and  as  the  boy 
turned  towards  her  the  smile  came  over  his  face 
again. 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  '  grandfather  '  ?  "  asked 
Ruby  eagerly.  "  Is  it  old  Adam  ?  I  didn't  know 
he  had  any  children  or  grandchildren." 

"  Yes,"  the  bo}^  replied,  "  I'm  his  grandson.  Was 
it  grandfather  you  meant  when  you  said  he  was 
queer?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Mavis,  "Ruby  didn't  mean  to  be  rude. 
It  was  only  nonsense.  People  say  —  " 

"  They  say  he's  very  queer  indeed,"  said  Ruby, 
who  had  no  intention  of  deserting  her  colours.  "  They 
say  he's  a  kind  of  a  wizard  or  an  ogre,  and  that  you 
hear  all  sorts  of  sounds  —  music  and  talking  and  I 
don't  know  all  what  —  if  you're  near  his  cottage  in 


22         THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

the  evening,  and  that  there  are  lights  to  be  seen  in 
it  too,  not  common  lights  like  candles,  but  much 
more.  Some  say  he's  friends  with  the  mermaids, 
and  that  they  come  to  see  him  —  is  that  true  ?  "  and 
notwithstanding  her  boasted  boldness  Ruby  dropped 
her  voice  a  little,  and  glanced  over  her  shoulder  half 
nervously  seawards,  as  if  not  quite  sure  but  that 
some  of  the  tailed  ladies  in  question  might  be  listen- 
ing to  her. 

The  boy  did  more  than  smile  now.  He  laughed 
outright ;  but  his  laugh,  though  bright  and  ringing, 
was  not  the  laugh  the  sisters  had  heard  from  the 
cottage. 

"  The  mermaids,"  he  said.  "  No,  indeed,  poor  little 
things,  they  never  visit  grandfather." 

"  Well,  why  do  you  laugh  ? "  said  Ruby  angrily 
again.  "  You  speak  as  if  there  were  mermaids." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  stories  I  have  heard  about 
them,"  said  the  boy  simply.  "  But  I  couldn't  help 
laughing  to  think  of  them  coming  to  see  grandfather. 
How  could  they  ever  get  up  these  stones  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  Ruby  answered  im- 
patiently. "  If  he's  a  wizard  he  could  do  anything 
like  that.  I  wish  you'd  tell  us  all  about  him.  You 
must  know,  as  you  live  with  him." 

"  I've  not  been  long  with  him,"  said  the  boy.  "  He 
may  be  friends  with  the  mermaids  for  all  I  know. 
He's  friends  with  everybody." 

"  You're  mocking  at  me,"  said  Ruby,  "  and  I  won't 


WIN  FRIED.  23 

have  it.  I'm  sure  you  could  tell  me  things  if  you 
chose." 

"  We  did  hear  talking  and  laughing,"  said  Mavis 
gently,  speaking  almost  for  the  lirst  time,  "and  it 
seemed  as  if  there  was  some  one  else  there." 

The  boy  looked  at  her  again,  and  a  very  pleasant 
light  came  into  his  eyes  —  more  than  that,  indeed,  as 
Mavis  watched  him  it  seemed  to  her  that  they 
changed  in  colour.  Was  it  the  reflection  from  the 
sky  ?  No,  there  was  a  mingling  of  every  hue  to 
be  seen  over  by  the  western  horizon  certainly,  but 
scarcely  the  deep  clear  midsummer  sky-blue  they 
suddenly  became. 

"  What  funny  eyes  you've  got,"  exclaimed  the 
child  impulsively.  "  They're  quite  blue  now,  and 
they  weren't  a  minute  ago." 

Ruby  stared  at  him  and  then  at  Mavis. 

"  Nonsense,"  she  said,  "  they're  not.  They're  just 
common  coloured  eyes.  You  shouldn't  say  such 
things,  Mavis ;  people  will  think  you're  out  of  your 
mind." 

Mavis  looked  very  ashamed,  but  the  boy's  face 
flushed  up.  He  looked  both  glad  and  excited. 

"If  you  please,  miss,"  he  said,  "some  people  see 
things  that  others  don't.  I  don't  even  mind  that 
nonsense  about  gran  and  the  mermaids ;  those  that 
say  it  don't  know  any  better." 

Ruby  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"  Then   there   is   something  to    know,"    she    said. 


24        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

"  Now  you  might  as  well  tell  us  all  about  it.  Is  old 
Adam  a  wizard  ?  " 

"  That  he's  not,"  answered  the  boy  stoutly,  "if  so 
be,  as  I  take  it,  that  a  wizard  means  one  that  has  to 
do  with  bad  spirits  —  unkind  and  mischief-making 
and  unloving,  call  them  what  you  will.  None  of 
such  like  would  come  near  gran,  or,  if  they  did,  he'd 
soon  send  them  to  the  right-about.  I'd  like  you  to 
see  him  for  yourself  some  day,  but  not  to-day,  if 
you'll  excuse  it.  He's  very  tired.  I  was  running 
down  to  the  shore  to  fetch  a  pailful  of  sea  water  to 
bathe  his  lame  arm." 

"  Then  we  mustn't  keep  you,"  said  Mavis.  "  But 
might  we  really  come  to  see  your  grandfather  some 
day,  do  you  think?" 

"  I'll  ask  him,"  said  the  boy ;  "  and  I  think  he'd 
be  pleased  to  see  you." 

"  You  might  come  up  to  the  castle  if  there's  any- 
thing he  would  like  — •  a  little  soup  or  anything," 
said  Ruby  in  her  patronising  way.  "  I'll  speak  to 
the  housekeeper." 

"  Thank  you,  miss,"  said  the  boy,  but  more  hesitat- 
ingly than  he  had  spoken  before. 

"  What's  your  name  ? "  asked  Ruby.  "  We'd 
better  know  it,  so  that  you  can  say  who  you  are 
when  you  come." 

"  Winfried,"  he  answered  simply. 

"  Then  good-bye,  Winfried,"  said  Ruby.  "  Come 
on,  Mavis ; "  and  she  turned  to  pursue  her  way 
home  past  the  cottage. 


WINFRIED.  25 

Win  fried  hesitated.  Then  he  ran  a  step  or  two 
after  them. 

"I  can  show  you  a  nearer  way  home  to  the  castle," 
he  said,  "and  if  you  don't  mind,  it  would  be  very 
kind  of  you  not  to  P*O  near  bv  our  cottage.  Grand- 

J  O  */  O 

father  is  feeble  still  — •  did  you  know  he  had  been 
very  ill?  —  and  seeing  or  hearing  strangers  might 
startle  him." 

"  Then  you  come  with  us,"  said  Ruby.  "  You  can 
tell  him  who  we  are." 

"  I'm  in  a  hurry  to  get  the  salt  water,"  said  the 
boy.  "  I  have  put  off  time  already,  and  if  you  won't 
think  me  rude  I'd  much  rather  you  came  to  the  cot- 
tage some  day  when  we  could  invite  you  to  step  in." 

His  manner  was  so  simple  and  hearty  that  Ruby 
could  not  take  offence,  though  she  had  been  quite 
ready  to  do  so. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  "then  show  us  your  nearer 
way." 

He  led  them  without  speaking  some  little  dis- 
tance towards  the  shore  again.  After  all  there  was 
a  path  —  not  a  bad  one  of  its  kind,  for  here  and 
there  it  ran  on  quite  smoothly  for  a  few  yards  and 
then  descended  by  stones  arranged  so  as  to  make  a 
few  rough  steps. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Ruby,  "  how  stupid  we  were  not 
to  find  this  path  before." 

Winfried  smiled.  "  I  scarce  think  you  could  have 
found  it  without  me  to  show  you,"  he  said,  "  nor  the 


26  THE   CHILDREN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

short  way  home  either  for  that  matter.  See  here  ;  " 
and  having  come  to  ihe  end  of  the  path  he  went  on 
a  few  steps  along  the  pebbly  shore,  for  here  there 
was  no  smooth  sand,  and  stopped  before  a  great 
boulder  stone,  as  large  as  a  hay-cart,  which  stood  out 
suddenly  among  the  broken  rocks.  Winfried  stepped 
up  close  to  it  and  touched  it  apparently  quite  gently. 
To  the  children's  amazement  it  swung  round  lightly 
as  if  it  had  been  the  most  perfectly  hung  door. 
And  there  before  them  was  revealed  a  little  Broadway, 
wide  enough  for  two  to  walk  abreast,  which  seemed 
to  wind  in  and  out  among  the  rocks  as  far  as  they 
could  see.  It  was  like  a  carefully  rolled  gravel  path 
in  a  garden,  except  that  it  seemed  to  be  of  a  peculiar 
kind  of  sand,  white  and  glistening. 

Ruby  darted  forward. 

.  "  What  a  lovely  path  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  will  it 
take  us  straight  home  ?     Are  you  sure  it  will  ?  " 

"•Quite  sure,"  said  Winfried.  "You  will  see  your 
way  in  no  time  if  you  run  hand-in-hand." 

"  What  a  funny  idea,"  laughed  the  child ;  and 
Mavis  too  looked  pleased. 

"  I'm  quite  sure  it's  a  fairy  road,"  she  was  begin- 
ning to  say,  but,  looking  round,  their  little  guide 
had  disappeared.  Then  came  his  voice  : 

"  Good-night,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  I've  shut-to 
the  stone  door,  and  I'm  up  on  the  top  of  it.  Good- 
night, little  ladies.  Run  home  hand-in-hand." 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other. 


WINF1UED.  27 

"  Upon  my  word,"  exclaimed  Ruby,  not  quite 
knowing  what  to  say,  "  if  old  Adam  isn't  a  wizard 
his  grandson  is.  I  think  we'd  better  get  out  of  this 
as  quick  as  we  can,  Mavis." 

She  seemed  half  frightened  and  half  provoked. 
Mavis,  on  the  contrary,  was  quite  simply  delighted. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  this  was  the  mermaid's 
own  way  to  the  cottage,"  she  said.  "I'm  sure  old 
Adam  and  Winfried  aren't  wizards ;  but  I  do  think 
they  must  be  some  kind  of  good  fairies,  or  at  least 
they  must  have  to  do  with  fairies.  Come  along, 
Ruby,  hand-in-hand ;  "  and  she  held  out  her  own  hand. 

But  Ruby  by  this  time  had  grown  cross. 

"  I  won't  give  in  to  such  rubbish,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  want  to  go  along  hand-in-hand  like  two  silly 
babies.  If  it  was  worth  the  trouble  I'd  climb  up  to 
the  top  of  the  stones  and  go  home  the  proper  way." 

This  was  all  boasting.  She  knew  quite  well  she 
could  not  possibly  climb  up  the  stone.  But  she 
walked  on  a  few  steps  in  sulky  dignity.  Suddenly 
she  gave  a  little  cry,  slipped,  and  fell. 

"  Oh,  I've  hurt  my  ankle  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  This 
horrid  white  gravel  is  so  slippery." 

Mavis  was  beside  her  almost  before  she  had  said 
the  words,  and  with  her  sister's  help  Ruby  got  on  to 
her  feet  again,  though  looking  rather  doleful. 

O  7  O  O 

"  I  believe  it's  all  a  trick  of  that  horrid  boy's,"  she 
said.  "I  wish  you  hadn't  made  me  come  to  see  that 
dirty  old  cottage,  Mavis." 


28  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

Mavis  stared. 

"  Me  make  y ou  come,  Ruby  ?  "  she  said.  "  Why, 
it  was  yourself." 

"Well,  you  didn't  stop  it,  anyway,"  said  Ruby, 
"and  you  seem  to  have  taken  such  a  fancy  to  that 

J  V1 

boy  and  his  grandfather,  and  — 

"  Ruby,  we  must  go  home,"  said  Mavis.  "  Try  if 
you  can  get  along." 

They  were  "  hand-in-hand."  There  was  no  help 
for  it  now.  Ruby  tried  to  walk  ;  to  her  surprise  her 
ankle  scarcely  hurt  her,  and  after  a  moment  or  two 
she  even  began  urging  Mavis  to  go  faster. 

"  I  believe  I  could  run,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps  the 
bone  in  my  ankle  got  out  of  its  place  and  now  has 
got  into  it  again.  Come  on,  Mavis." 

They  started  running  together,  for  in  spite  of  her 
boasting  Ruby  had  had  a  lesson  and  would  not  let  go 
of  Mavis.  They  got  on  famously ;  the  ground  seemed 
elastic  ;  as  they  ran,  each  step  grew  at  once  firmer  and 
yet  lighter. 

"It  isn't  a  bit  slippery  now,  is  it?"  said  Mavis, 
glowing  with  the  pleasant  exercise.  "  And  oh,  Ruby, 
do  look  up  at  the  sky  —  isn't  it  lovely?  And  isn't 
that  the  evening  star  coming  out  —  that  blue  light  up 
there  ;  no,  it's  too  early.  See  —  no,  it's  gone.  What 
could  it  be  ?  Why,  here  we  are,  at  the  gate  of  the 
low  terrace ! " 

They  had  suddenly,  as  they  ran,  come  out  from 
the  path,  walled  in,  as  it  were,  among  the  broken 


WINFRIED.  29 

rocky  fragments,  on  to  a  more  open  space,  which  at 
the  first  moment  they  scarcely  recognised  as  one  of 
the  fields  at  the  south  side  of  the  castle. 

Ruby  too  gazed  about  her  with  surprise. 

"  It  is  a  quick  way  home,  certainly,"  she  allowed, 
"but  I  don't  see  any  star  or  blue  light,  Mavis.  It 
must  be  your  fancy." 

Mavis  looked  up  at  the  sky.  The  sunset  colours 
were  just  beginning  to  fade  ;  a  soft  pearly  gray  veil 
was  slowly  drawing  over  them,  though  they  were 
still  brilliant.  Mavis  seemed  perplexed. 

44  It  is  gone,"  she  said,  "but  I  did  see  it." 

"It  must  have  been  tho  dazzle  of  the  light  in  your 
eyes,"  said  Ruby.  "  I  am  seeing  lots  of  little  suns  all 
over  —  red  ones  and  yellow  ones." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  like  that,"  said  Mavis  ;  "  it  was  more 
like  —  " 

"  More  like  what?  "  asked  Ruby. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  more  like  a  forget-me-not  up 
in  the  sky,"  said  her  sister. 

"You  sill f/  girl,"  laughed  Ruby.  "I  never  did 
hear  any  one  talk  such  nonsense  as  you  do.  I'll 
tell  cousin  Ilortensia,  see  if  I  don't." 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  Mavis  quietly. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   PRINCESS    WITH   THE   FORGET-ME-NOT   EYES. 

"  For,  just  when  it  thrills  mo  most, 
The  fairies  change  into  phantoms  cold, 
And  the  beautiful  dream  is  lost !  " 

Miss  HORTENSIA  was  looking  out  for  the  little 
girls  as  they  slowly  came  up  the  terraces. 

"  There  you  are  at  last,"  she  called  out.  "  You 
are  rather  late,  my  dears.  I  have  been  round  at  the 
other  side,  thinking  I  saw  you  go  out  that  way." 

"  So  we  did,"  said  Ruby.  "  We  went  down  to  the 
cove  and  along  the  shore  as  far  as  —  Oh,  cousin 
Hortensia,  we  have  had  such  adventures,  and  last  of 
all,  what  do  you  think?  Mavis  has  just  seen  a  for- 
get-me-not up  in  the  sky." 

Miss  Hortensia  smiled  at  Mavis ;  she  had  a  par- 
ticular way  of  smiling  at  her,  as  if  she  was  not  per- 
fectly sure  if  the  little  girl  were  quite  like  other 
people.  But  Mavis,  though  she  understood  this  far 
better  than  her  cousin  imagined,  never  felt  angry  at 
it. 

"  A  forget-me-not  in  the  sky,"  said  the  lady ; 
"  that  is  an  odd  idea.  But  you  must  tell  me  all  your 
adventures  when  we  are  comfortably  settled  for  the 

30 


THE   PRINCESS.  81 

evening.  Run  in  and  take  your  things  off  quickly, 
for  I  don't  want  you  to  catch  cold,  and  the  air,  now 
the  sun  is  set,  is  chilly.  There  is  a  splendid  fire 
burning,  and  we  shall  have  tea  in  my  room  as  I 
promised  you." 

"  Oh,  how  nice,"  said  Ruby.  "  Come  along,  Ma- 
vis. I'm  as  hungry  as  a  hawk." 

"  And  you'll  tell  us  stories  after  tea,  cousin  Hor- 
tensia,  won't  you  ?  "  said  Mavis  ;  "  at  least  you'll  tell 
us  about  your  queer  dream." 

"  And  about  mamma's  going  to  court,"  added 
Ruby,  as  she  dashed  upstairs.  For  by  this  time  they 
were  inside  the  house. 

The  part  of  the  castle  that  the  children  and  their 
cousin  and  the  few  servants  in  attendance  on  them 
occupied  was  really  only  a  corner  of  it.  A  short 
flight  of  stairs  led  up  to  a  small  gallery  running 
round  a  side-hall,  and  out  of  this  gallery  opened 
their  sleeping-rooms  and  what  had  been  their  nurs- 
ery and  play-rooms.  The  school-room  and  Miss 
Hortensia's  own  sitting-room  were  on  the  ground- 
floor.  To  get  to  any  of  the  turrets  was  quite  a  long 
journey.  They  were  approached  by  the  great  stair- 
case which  ascended  from  the  large  white  and  black 
tiled  hall,  dividing,  after  the  first  flight,  into  two 
branches,  each  of  which  led  to  passages  from  which 
other  smaller  stairs  went  upwards  to  the  top  of  the 
house.  The  grandest  rooms  opened  out  of  the  tiled 
hall  on  the  ground-floor,  and  out  of  the  passages  on 


32        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

the  first  floor.  From  this  central  part  of  the  house 
the  children's  corner  was  shut  of  by  heavy  swing 
doors  seldom  opened. 

So  when  Ruby  and  Mavis  visited  the  turrets  they 
had  to  pass  through  these  doors,  and  go  some  way 
along  the  passages,  and  then  up  one  of  the  side 
stairs  —  up,  up,  up,  the  flights  of  steps  getting 
steeper  and  narrower  as  they  climbed,  till  at  last 
they  reached  the  door  of  the  turret-chamber  itself. 
Of  these  chambers  there  were  two,  one  in  each  tur- 
ret, east  and  west.  The  west  was  their  favourite, 
partly  because  from  it  they  saw  the  sunset,  and 
partly  because  it  was  nearer  their  own  rooms.  They 
had  been  allowed  to  make  a  sort  of  private  nest  of  it 
for  themselves,  and  to  play  there  on  rainy  days  when 
they  could  not  get  out,  and  sometimes  in  very  cold 
or  snowy  weather  they  had  a  fire  there,  which  made 
the  queer  old  room  very  cheery.  There  were  three 
windows  in  each  turret,  and  they  were  furnished  in 
an  odd,  irregular  way  with  all  sorts  of  quaint  old- 
fashioned  furniture  discarded  from  other  parts  of  the 
castle.  In  former  days  these  turret-rooms  had  some- 
times been  used  as  guest-chambers  when  the  house 
was  very  full  of  visitors.  For  the  large  modern 
rooms  and  the  hall  I  have  spoken  of  had  been  added 
by  the  children's  grandfather  —  a  very  hospitable  but 
extravagant  man.  And  before  he  made  these  im- 
provements there  were  often  more  guests  than  it  was 
easy  to  find  room  for. 


THE   PRINCESS.  33 

Ruby  and  Mavis  were  not  long  in  taking  off  their 
out-door  things  and  "tidying"  themselves  for  their 
evening  in  Miss  Hortensia's  pleasant  little  room. 
They  made  a  pretty  picture  as  they  ran  downstairs, 
their  fair  curls  dancing  on  their  shoulders,  though  if 
I  were  to  describe  to  you  how  they  were  dressed,  I 
am  afraid  you  would  think  they  must  have  been  a 
very  old-world  looking  little  pair. 

"  Here  we  are,  cousin  Hortensia,"  exclaimed  Ruby 
as  they  came  in,  "  and  I  do  hope  it's  nearly  tea-time." 

uNot   quite,    my   dear,"    Miss    Hortensia   replied, 
glancing  at  a  beautifully  carved  Swiss  clock  which 
stood   on   the   mantelpiece ;    "  the    little    trumpeter 
won't  tell  us  it's  six  o'clock  for  half  an  hour  yet  — 
his  dog  has  just  barked  twice." 

"  Lazy  things,"  said  Ruby,  shrugging  her  shoul- 
ders, "I'd  like  to  shake  that  old  trumpeter  some- 
times." 

"  And  sometimes  you'd  like  to  pat  him  to  sleep, 
wouldn't  you  ?  "  said  Mavis.  "  When  cousin  Hor- 
tensia's telling  us  stories,  and  he  says  it's  bed- 
time." 

Miss  Hortensia  looked  at  Mavis  in  some  surprise, 
but  she  seemed  very  pleased  too.  It  was  not  often 
Mavis  spoke  so  brightly. 

"Suppose  you  use  up  the  half-hour  in  telling  me 
stories,"  said  their  cousin.  "Mine  will  keep  till 
after  tea.  What  were  all  the  adventures  you  met 
with?" 


34  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

"Oh,"  said  Ruby,  "it  was  too  queer.  Did  you 
know,  cousin,  that  there  was  a  short  way  home  from 
the  sea-shore  near  old  Adam's  cottage?  Such  a 
queer  way  ;  "  and  she  went  on  to  describe  the  path 
between  the  rocks. 

Miss  Hortensia  looked  very  puzzled. 

"Who  showed  it  to  you?"  she  said;  for  Ruby,  in 
her  helter-skelter  way,  had  begun  at  the  end  of  the 
story,  without  speaking  of  the  boy  Winfried,  or 
explaining  why  they  —  or  she  —  had  been  so  curious 
about  the  old  man  whom  the  villagers  called  a 
wizard. 

"It  was  the  boy,"  Mavis  replied;  "such  a  nice  boy, 
cousin  Hortensia,  with  funny  bluey  eyes — at  least 
they're  sometimes  blue." 

"  Oh,  Mavis,  do  not  talk  so  sillily,"  said  Ruby ; 
"  his  eyes  aren't  a  bit  blue.  She's  got  blue  on  the 
brain,  cousin,  she  really  has.  Seeing  forget-me-nots 
in  the  sky  too  !  I  don't  think  he  was  a  particularly 
nice  boy.  He  was  rather  cool.  I'm  sure  we  wouldn't 
have  done  his  grandfather  any  harm.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  him,  cousin  ?  Old  Adam  they  call  him  ;  " 
and  then  she  went  on  to  give  a  rather  more  clear 
account  of  their  walk,  and  all  they  had  seen  and 
heard. 

Miss  Hortensia  listened  attentively,  and  into  her 
own  eyes  crept  a  dreamy,  far-away,  or  rather  long- 
ago  look. 

"  It  is  odd,"  she  said ;  "  I  have  a  kind  of  fancy 


THE   PRINCESS.  35 

that  I  have  heard  of  the  old  '  solitary,'  for  he  must 
be  almost  a  hermit,  before.  But  somehow  I  don't 
think  it  was  here.  I  wonder  how  long  he  has  lived 
here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ruby.  "  A  good  while,  I 
should  think.  He  was  here  when  Joan  was  our 
nurse." 

"But  that  was  only  two  years  ago,"  said  Miss 
Hortensia,  smiling.  "  If  he  had  been  here  many 
years  the  people  would  not  count  him  so  much  of  a 
foreigner.  And  the  boy  you  met  —  has  he  come  to 
take  care  of  the  old  man  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  We  didn't  ask  him,"  said  Ruby 
carelessly.  "  He  was  really  such  a  cool  boy,  order- 
ing us  not  to  go  near  the  cottage  indeed !  I  told 
him  he  might  come  up  to  get  some  soup  or  jelly  for 
his  grandfather,"  she  went  on,  with  a  toss  of  her 
head.  "  I  said  it,  you  know,  just  to  put  him  in  his 
place,  and  remind  him  whom  he  was  speaking  to." 

"  I'm  sure  he  didn't  mean  to  be  rude,"  said  Mavis ; 
"  and,  cousin,  there  really  was  something  rather 
'  fairy '  about  him.  Isn't  it  very  queer  we  never 
heard  of  that  path  before  ? " 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Hortensia  replied.  "  Are  you  sure 
you  didn't  both  fall  asleep  on  the  shore  and  dream 
it  all?  Though,  to  be  sure,  it  is  rather  too  cold 
weather  for  you  to  have  been  overcome  by  drowsi- 
ness." 

"And  we  couldn't  both  have   dreamt  the   same 


36  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

thing  if  we  had  fallen  asleep,"  said  Mavis,  in  her 
practical  way.  "It  wasn't  like  when  you  were  a 
little  girl  and  saw  or  dreamt  —  " 

"  Don't  you  begin  telling  the  story  if  cousin  Hor- 
tensia's  going  to  tell  it  herself,"  interrupted  Ruby. 
"  I  was  just  thinking  I  had  forgotten  it  a  good  deal, 
and  that  it  would  seem  fresh.  But  here's  tea  at  last 
—  I  am  so  glad." 

They  were  very  merry  and  happy  during  the  meal. 
Ruby  was  particularly  pleased  with  herself,  having  a 
vague  idea  that  she  had  behaved  in  a  very  grand  and 
dignified  way.  Mavis's  eyes  were  very  bright.  The 
afternoon's  adventure  had  left  on  her  a  feeling  of  ex- 
pecting something  pleasant,  that  she  could  hardly 
put  in  words.  And  besides  this,  there  was  cousin 
Hortensia's  story  to  hear. 

When  the  table  was  cleared,  cousin  Hortensia  set- 
tled herself  with  her  knitting  in  a  low  chair  by  the 
fire,  and  told  the  children  to  bring  forward  two  little 
stools  and  seat  themselves  beside  her.  They  had 
their  knitting  too,  for  this  useful  art  had  been  taught 
them  while  they  were  so  young  that  they  could 
scarcely  remember  having  learnt  it.  And  the  three 
pairs  of  needles  made  a  soft  click-click,  which  did 
not  the  least  disturb  their  owners,  so  used  were  they 
to  it.  Rather  did  it  seem  a  pleasant  accompaniment 
to  Miss  Hortensia's  voice. 

"  You  want  me  to  toll  you  the  story  of  my  night 
in  the  west  turret-room  when  I  was  a  little  girl,"  she 


THE    PRINCESS.  37 

began.  "  You  have  heard  it  before,  partly  at  least, 
but  I  will  try  to  tell  it  more  fully  this  time.  I  was 
a  very  little  girl,  younger  than  you  two — I  don't 
think  I  was  more  than  eight  years  old.  I  had  come 
here  with  my  father  and  mother  and  elder  sisters  to 
join  a  merry  party  assembled  to  celebrate  the  silver 
wedding  of  your  great>grandparents.  Your  grand- 
father himself,  their  eldest  child,  was  about  three  and 
twenty.  He  was  not  then  married,  so  it  was  some 
time  before  your  father  was  born.  I  don't  quite 
know  why  they  had  brought  me.  It  seems  to  me  I 
would  have  been  better  at  home  in  my  nursery,  for 
there  were  no  children  as  young  as  I  to  keep  me 
company.  Perhaps  it  was  that  they  wished  to  have 
me  to  represent  another  generation^  as  it  were,  though, 
after  all,  that  might  have  been  done  by  my  sisters. 
The  elder  of  them,  Jacintha,  was  then  nineteen ;  it 
was  she  who  afterwards  married  your  grandfather,  so 
that  besides  being  cousins  of  the  family,  as  we  were 
already,  I  am  your  grandmother's  sister,  and  thus 
your  great-aunt  as  well  as  cousin." 

The  little  girls  nodded  their  heads. 

"  I  was  so  much  younger  than  Jacintha,"  Miss 
Hortensia  went  on,  "  that  your  father  never  called  me 
aunt.  He  and  I  have  always  been  Robert  and  Hor- 
tensia to  each  other,  and  to  me  he  has  always  been 
like  a  younger  brother." 

"  But  about  your  adventure,"  said  Ruby,  who  was 
not  of  a  sentimental  turn. 


38         THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

"  I  am  coming  to  it,"  said  their  cousin.  "  Well,  as 
I  said,  the  party  was  a  merry  one.  They  had  danc- 
ing and  music  in  plenty  every  evening,  and  the  house, 
which  was  in  some  ways  smaller  than  it  is  now,  was 
very  full.  There  were  a  great  many  bedrooms, 
though  few  of  them  were  large,  and  I  and  my  sisters, 
being  relations,  were  treated  with  rather  less  cere- 
mony than  some  of  the  stranger  guests,  and  put  to 
sleep  in  the  turret-room.  I  had  a  little  bed  in  one 
corner,  and  my  sisters  slept  together  in  the  same  old 
four-poster  which  is  still  there.  I  used  to  be  put  to 
bed  much  earlier  than  they  came,  for,  as  I  said,  there 
were  dancing  and  other  amusements  most  evenings 
till  pretty  late.  I  was  not  at  all  a  nervous  or  fright- 
ened child,  and  even  sometimes  when  I  lay  up  there 
by  myself  wide  awake  —  for  the  change  and  the 
excitement  kept  me  from  going  to  sleep  as  quickly 
as  at  home  —  I  did  not  feel  at  all  lonely.  From  my 
bed  I  could  see  out  of  the  window,  for  the  turret 
windows  are  so  high  up  that  it  has  never  been  neces- 
sary to  have  blinds  on  them,  and  I  loved  to  lie  there 
watching  the  starlit  sky,  or  sometimes,  when  the 
moon  was  bright  and  full,  gazing  up  at  the  clouds 
that  went  scurrying  over  her  face.  One  night  I  had 
been  unusually  wakeful.  I  lay  there,  hearing  now 
and  then  very,  very  faint,  far-off  sounds  of  the  music 
down  below.  It  was  a  mild  night,  and  I  think  the 
windows  were  a  little  open.  At  last  I  must  have 
fallen  asleep.  When  I  awoke,  or  rather  when  I 


THE   PRINCESS.  39 

thought  I  awoke,  the  room  was  all  in  darkness  except 
in  one  corner,  the  corner  by  the  west  window. 
There,  there  was  a  soft  steady  light,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  it  was  on  purpose  to  make  me  look  that 
way.  For  there,  sitting  on  the  old  chair  that  still 
stands  in  the  depth  of  that  window  was  some  one  I 
had  never  seen  before.  A  lady  in  a  cloudy  silvery 
dress,  with  a  sheen  of  blue  over  it.  My  waking,  or 
looking  at  her,  for  though  it  must  all  have  been  a 
dream,  I  could  not  make  you  understand  it  unless 
I  described  it  as  if  it  were  real,  seemed  to  be  made 
conscious  to  her,  for  she  at  once  turned  her  eyes 
upon  me,  then  rose  sloAvly  and  came  over  the  room 
towards  me." 

"Weren't  you  frightened?"  said  Ruby  breath- 
lessly. In  spite  of  her  boasted  disbelief  in  dreams 
and  visions  her  cousin's  story  had  caught  her  atten- 
tion. Miss  Hortensia  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  in  the  very  least,"  she  said.  "  On  the  con- 
trary, I  felt  a  strange  and  delightful  kind  of  pleasure 
and  wonder.  It  was  more  intense  than  I  have  ever 
felt  anything  of  the  kind  in  waking  life  ;  indeed,  if 
it  had  lasted  long  I  think  it  would  have  been  more 
than  I  could  bear  —  Miss  Hortensia  stopped  for  a 
moment  and  leant  back  in  her  chair.  "  I  have  felt 
something  of  the  same,"  she  went  on,  "  when  listening 
to  very,  very  beautiful  music  —  music  that  seemed 
too  beautiful  and  made  you  almost  cry  out  for  it  to 
stop." 


40        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

"  I've  never  heard  music  like  that,"  whispered 
little  Mavis,  "  but  I  think  I  know  what  you  mean." 

C(p  Or,"  continued  Miss  Hortensia,  "  sometimes  on 
a  marvellously  beautiful  day  —  what  people  call  a 
"  heavenly  "  day,  I  have  had  a  feeling  rather  like  it. 
A  feeling  that  makes  one  shut  one's  eyes  for  very 
pleasure." 

"  Well,"  said  Ruby,  "  did  you  shut  your  eyes  then, 
or  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"No,"  said  her  cousin.  "I  could  not  have  shut 
them.  I  felt  she  was  looking  at  me,  and  her  eyes 
seemed  to  catch  and  fasten  mine  and  draw  them  into 
hers.  It  was  her  eyes  above  all  that  filled  me  with 
that  beautiful  wonderful  feeling.  I  can  never  forget 
it  —  never.  I  could  fancy  sometimes  even  now,  old 
woman  as  I  am,  that  I  am  again  the  little  enraptured 
child  gazing  up  at  the  beautiful  vision.  I  feel  her 
eyes  in  mine  still." 

"  How  funny  you  are,"  interrupted  Ruby.  "  A 
minute  ago  you  said  she  pulled  your  eyes  into  hers, 
now  you  say  hers  came  into  yours.  It  would  be  a 
very  funny  feeling  whichever  it  was ;  I  don't  think  I 
should  like  it." 

Miss  Hortensia  glanced  at  her,  but  gravely.  She 
did  not  smile. 

"  It  must  be  a  very  c  funny '  feeling,  as  you  call  it, 
to  a  hitherto  blind  man  the  first  time  he  sees  the  sun- 
shine. I  dare  say  he  would  find  it  difficult  to  describe  ; 
and  to  a  still  blind  person  it  would  be  impossible  to 


THE   PRINCESS.  41 

explain  it.  I  dare  say  the  newly-cured  man  would 
not  feel  sure  whether  the  sun  had  come  into  his  eyes 
or  his  eyes  had  reached  up  to  the  sun." 

Ruby  fidgeted. 

"  Oh,  do  go  on  about  the  fairy  or  whatever  she 
was,"  she  said.  "  Never  mind  about  what  I  said." 

Miss  Hortensia  smiled. 

"  The  lady  came  slowly  across  the  room  to  me," 
she  went  on,  "and  stood  by  my  bed,  looking  down 
at  me  with  those  wonderful  blue  eyes.  Then  she 
smiled,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  light  about  her  grew 
still  brighter.  I  thought  I  sat  up  in  bed  to  see  her 
better.  4  Are  you  a  fairy  ? '  I  said  at  last.  She 
smiled  still  more.  c  If  }rou  like,  you  ma}^  call  me  a 
fairy,'  she  answered.  '  But  if  I  am  a  fairy  my  home 
must  be  fairyland,  and  this  turret-room  is  one  of  my 
homes.  So  you  are  my  guest,  my  little  girl.'  I  did 
not  mind  her  saying  that.  I  smiled  too.  '  I've  never 
seen  you  here  before,'  I  said.  And  she  laughed  a 
little  —  I  never  heard  anything  so  pretty  as  her 
laugh.  'No,'  she  replied,  'but  I  have  seen  you  and 
every  one  that  has  ever  been  here,  though  every  one 
has  not  seen  me.  Now  listen,  my  child.  I  wanted 
you  to  see  me  because  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you.  There  will  come  a  time  when  you  will  be 
drawn  two  ways,  one  will  be  back  here  to  the  old 
castle  by  the  sea,  after  many  years ;  many,  many 
years,  as  you  count  things.  Choose  that  way,  for 
you  will  be  wanted  here.  Those  yet  unborn  will 


42  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

want  you,  for  they  will  want  love  and  care.  Look 
into  my  eyes,  little  girl,  and  promise  me  you  will 
come  to  them.'  And  in  my  dream  I  thought  I  gazed 
again  into  her  eyes,  and  I  felt  as  if  their  blue  light 
was  the  light  of  a  faith  and  truth  that  could  not  be 
broken,  and  I  said,  '  I  promise.'  And  then  the  fairy 
lady  seemed  to  draw  a  gauze  veil  over  her  face,  and 
it  grew  dim,  and  the  wonderful  eyes  were  hidden, 
and  I  thought  I  fell  asleep.  In  reality,  I  suppose,  I 
had  never  been  awake." 

"  And  when  you  did  wake  up  it  was  morning,  I 
suppose,  and  it  had  all  been  a  dream  ?  "  asked  Ruby. 

Miss  Hortensia  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  suppose  it  had  been  a  dream. 
It  was  morning,  bright  morning,  the  sun  streaming 
in  at  the  other  window  when  I  awoke,  and  I  never 
saw  the  fairy  lady  again  —  not  even  in  a  dream. 
But  what  she  had  said  came  true,  my  dears.  Many, 
many  years  after,  when  I  was  already  beginning  to 
be  an  old  woman,  it  came  true.  I  am  afraid  I  had 
grown  selfish  —  life  had  brought  me  many  anxieties, 
and  I  had  lived  in  a  great  city  where  there  was  much 
luxury  and  gaiety,  and  where  no  one  seemed  to  have 
thought  for  anything  but  the  rush  of  pleasure  and 
worldly  cares.  I  had  forgotten  all  about  my  beauti- 
ful vision,  when  one  day  there  came  a  summons. 
Your  sweet  young  mother  had  died,  my  darlings, 
and  your  poor  father  in  his  desolation  could  think  of 
no  one  better  to  come  and  take  care  of  his  little  girls 


THE   PRINCESS.  43 

—  you  were  only  two  years  old  —  than  his  old  cousin. 
And  so  I  came  ;  and  then  there  crept  back  to  me  the 
remembrance  of  my  dream.  I  had  indeed  been  drawn 
two  ways,  for  the  friends  I  might  have  gone  to  live 
with  were  rich  and  good-natured,  and  they  promised 
me  everything  I  could  wish.  But  I  thought  of  the 
two  little  motherless  ones,  here  in  the  old  castle  by 
the  sea,  in  want  of  love  and  care  as  she  had  said,  and 
I  came." 

Miss  Hortensia  stopped.  Even  Ruby  was  im- 
pressed by  what  she  had  heard. 

"Dear  cousin,"  she  said,  "it  was  very  good  of 
you." 

"And  have  you  never  seen  the  beautiful  lady 
again?"  said  Mavis.  "She  told  you  the  west  turret 
was  her  own  room,  didn't  she?  Have  you  never 
seen  her  there  ?  " 

Miss  Hortensia  shook  her  head. 

"You  forget,  dear,  it  Avas  only  a  dream.  And 
even  if  it  had  been  more  than  that,  we  grow  very 
far  away  from  angels  and  fairies  as  we  get  old,  I 
fear." 

"Not  you"  Mavis  said;  "you're  not  like  that. 
And  the  lady  must  have  been  so  pleased  with  you 
for  caring  for  us,  I  wonder  she  hasn't  ever  come  to 
see  you  again.  Do  you  know,"  she  went  on  eagerly, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  "  I  have  a  feeling  that  she  is 
in  the  west  turret-room  sometimes  !  " 

Miss  Hortensia  looked  at  the  child  in  amazement. 


44        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

Mavis's  quiet,  rather  dull  face  seemed  transformed; 
it  was  all  flushed  and  beaming,  her  eyes  sparkling 
and  bright. 

"  Mavis  !  "  she  said,  "  you  look  as  if  you  had  seen 
her  yourself.  But  it  was  only  a  dream,  you  mustn't 
let  my  old-world  stories  make  you  fanciful.  I  am 
too  fanciful  myself  perhaps  —  I  have  always  loved 
the  west  turret,  and  that  was  why  I  chose  it  for  your 
play-room  when  you  were  little  dots." 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  did,"  said  Mavis,  drawing  a  long 
breath. 

After  that  they  were  all  rather  silent  for  a  while. 
Then  Ruby  claimed  Miss  Hortensia's  promise  of  the 
story  or  description  rather  of  the  grand  court  ball 
at  which  her  mother's  beauty  had  made  such  a  sensa- 
tion, and  when  that  was  ended,  the  little  trumpeter 
announced,  much  to  the  children's  displeasure,  that 
it  was  time  to  go  to  bed. 

"  We  have  had  a  cosy  evening,"  said  Mavis,  as  she 
kissed  Miss  Hortensia. 

"  And,  oh  Ruby,"  she  said,  as  her  sister  and  she 
were  going  slowly  upstairs,  "  dorft  you  wish  we  might 
sleep  in  the  turret-room  ?  " 

"  No  indeed,"  Ruby  replied,  in  a  most  decided  tone, 
"  I  certainly  don't." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  BOY  AND  A  BOAT. 

"  Are  little  boats  alive  ? 
And  can  they  plan  and  feel  ?  ' ' 

"A." 

"  IF  you  please,  there's  a  boy  at  the  kitchen-door 
asking  for  the  young  ladies,"  said  the  young  maid- 
servant Ulrica,  who  generally  waited  on  Ruby  and 
Mavis. 

They  were  just  finishing  their  morning  lessons 
with  Miss  Hortensia,  and  Mavis  was  putting  away 
the  books,  a  task  which  usually  fell  to  her  share. 

Miss  Hortensia  gave  a  little  start. 

"  A  boy,"  she  exclaimed,  "  what  kind  of  a  boy?  It 
can't  be  —  oh  no  of  course  not.  How  foolish  I  am. 
At  the  kitchen-door,  did  you  say,  Ulrica?  Who 
is  it?" 

"  Oh,  I  know ! "  cried  Ruby,  jumping  up  with  a 
clatter,  delighted  to  avoid  finding  out  the  mistake  in 
a  sum  which  Miss  Hortensia  had  told  her  she  must 
correct.  "  It's  Winfried ;  I'm  sure  it  is.  He's  come 
for  some  soup  or  something.  I  told  him  he  might, 
but  I  do  think  it's  rather  greedy  to  have  come  the 
very  next  day.  Mayn't  I  go  and  speak  to  him, 
cousin  ?  " 

45 


46  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  No,  I  think  it  would  be 
better  for  him  to  come  in  here.  Show  the  boy  in 
here,  Ulrica  —  at  least  —  ask  him  if  he  is  old  Adam's 
grandson." 

In  a  minute  or  two  the  door  was  again  opened. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  Ulrica's  voice  as 
before,  "it's  —  it's  the  boy." 

"  The  boy "  walked  in ;  he  held  his  cap  in  his 
hand,  and  made  a  sort  of  graceful  though  simple 
obeisance  to  the  ladies.  He  did  not  seem  the  least 
shy,  yet  neither  was  there  a  touch  of  boldness  about 
him.  On  his  face  was  the  slight  but  pleasant  smile 
that  had  more  than  once  lighted  it  up  the  day  before, 
and  his  eyes,  as  he  stood  there  full  in  the  bright 
gleam  of  the  window  —  for  it  was  a  clear  and  sunny 
day  —  were  very  blue. 

Ruby  came  forward. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it  ? "  she  said,  with  the  half- 
patronising  good  humour  usual  to  her  when  not  put 
out.  "I  thought  it  was.  It's  Winfried,  cousin 
Hortensia ;  the  boy  I  told  you  of.  I  suppose  you've 
come  for  some  soup  for  your  grandfather." 

Winfried  smiled,  a  little  more  than  before.  Mavis 
crept  forward ;  she  wished  she  could  have  said  some- 
thing, but  she  was  afraid  of  vexing  Ruby. 

"No,  miss,"  said  Winfried,  "I  did  not  come  for 
that,  though  grandfather  said  it  was  very  kind  of 
you,  and  some  day  perhaps  — "  he  stopped  short. 
"  I  came  to  bring  you  this  which  I  found  on  the  rocks 


A    BOY    AND    A    BOAT.  47 

down  below  our  cottage ; "  and  lie  held  out  a  little 
silver  cross.  Ruby  started,  and  put  her  hand  up  to 
her  neck. 

"  Oh  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  never  knew  I  had  lost  it. 
Are  you  sure  it  isn't  yours,  Mavis?  I've  got  my 
cord  on." 

"  Yes,  but  the  cross  must  have  dropped  off,"  said 
Mavis.  "  I  have  mine  all  right." 

And  so  it  proved.  Both  little  sisters  wore  these 
crosses,  which  were  exactly  alike.  Ruby  took  hers 
from  Winfried,  and  began  examining  it  to  see  how  it 
had  got  loose.  Miss  Hortensia  came  forward. 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  bring  the  little  cross," 
she  said  kindly ;  for  something  about  the  boy  at- 
tracted her  very  much.  "Ruby,  my  dear,"  she  went 
on  half  reprovingly.  Ruby  started  and  looked  up. 
"  I  am  sure  you  are  very  much  obliged  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course  I  am,"  said  the  little  girl  care- 
lessly. "  It  certainly  was  very  sharp  of  you  to  find 
it,"  she  added  with  more  interest. 

"  I  can  generally  find  things,"  said  Winfried 
quietly. 

"  Is  there  anything  we  can  do  for  your  grand- 
father?" asked  Miss  Hortensia.  "I  am  sorry  to  hear 
he's  so  ill." 

The  boy  shook  his  head ;  a  sad  look  passed  across 
his  bright  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "  he's  pretty  bad  sometimes.  But 
some  days  he's  much  better.  He's  better  to-day. 


48  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

There's  one  thing  he  would  like,"  he  went  on,  "  he 
told  me  to  ask  you  if  some  day  the  young  ladies 
might  come  to  see  him  ;  he  said  I  might  ask  — " 

Ruby  interrupted  — 

"  Why,  how  funny  you  are,"  she  said ;  "  that  was 
just  what  we  wanted  yesterday,  and  you  wouldn't 
let  us  go  near  the  cottage.  You  said  we'd  startle 
him." 

"  He  was  very  tired  yesterday,"  said  Winfried ; 
"  and  you  see  he  wasn't  looking  for  you." 

"  He  was  chattering  and  laughing  all  the  same  — 
or  somebody  was,"  said  Ruby.  "  We  heard  them  — 
don't  you  remember?  " 

Winfried  did  not  speak.  But  he  did  not  seem 
vexed. 

"I  believe  it  was  the  mermaids  after  all,"  Ruby 
went  on.  "  Cousin  Hortensia,  if  you  let  us  go  there 
the  mermaids  will  steal  us." 

"  No,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Winfried  eagerly. 

Miss  Hortensia  smiled  at  him. 

u  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  said.  "  Tell  your  grand- 
father the  young  ladies  shall  certainly  go  to  see  him 
some  day  soon." 

"To-morrow,"  said  Mavis,  speaking  almost  for  the 
first  time.  "  Oh,  do  say  we  may  go  to-morrow  —  it's 
our  half-holiday." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Miss  Hortensia.    "  Are  you  sure 
you  can  find  your  way  ?      I   can   send  Ulrica 
you." 


A    BOY   AND    A    BOAT.  49 

"  Mayn't  I  come  to  fetch  the  young  ladies?"  asked 
Winfried.  "  I  know  all  the  short  cuts." 

"  I  should  think  you  did,"  laughed  Ruby.  "  We 
told  cousin  Hortensia  all  about  that  queer  path 
through  the  rocks.  Shed  never  seen  it  either." 

"  I'll  take  you  quite  as  nice  a  way  to-morrow,"  said 
the  boy  composedly.  "  May  I  go  now  please  ?  "  he 
added,  turning  to  Miss  Hortensia.  "  Grandfather 
may  be  wanting  me,  and  thank  you  very  much ;  "  and 
in  another  moment  he  was  gone. 

Miss  Hortensia  was  quite  silent  for  a  minute  or 
two  after  he  had  left  the  room. 

"  Cousin,"  began  Ruby ;  but  her  cousin  did  not 
seem  to  hear.  "  Cousin"  repeated  the  child  im- 
patiently. 

Miss  Hortensia  looked  up  as  if  awakened  from 
a  brown  study. 

"  Did  you  speak,  my  dear?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  did.  I  want  you  to  say  some- 
thing about  that  queer  boy.  I  suppose  you  think 
him  very  nice,  or  you  wouldn't  let  Mavis  and  me 
go  to  his  cottage.  You're  generally  so  frightened 
about  us." 

"I  do  think  he  is  a  very  nice  boy,"  said  Miss  Hor- 
tensia. •"  I  am  sure  he  is  quite  trustworthy." 

"  /  believe  he's  a  bit  of  a  fairy,  and  I'm  sure  his 
old  grandfather's  a  wizard,"  murmured  Ruby.  "And 
I  quite  expect,  as  I  said  to  Joan,  that  we  shall  be 
turned  into  sea-gulls  or  frogs  if  we  go  there." 


50        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  being  a  sea-gull,"  said  Mavis. 
"  Not  for  a  little  while  at  least.  Would  you,  cousin 
Hortensia  ?  " 

But  Miss  Hortensia  had  not  been  listening  to  their 
chatter. 

"My  dears,"  she  said  solemnly,  "I  will  tell  you 
one  reason  why  I  should  be  glad  for  you  sometimes 
to  have  Winfried  as  a  companion  if  he  is  as  good  and 
manly  as  he  seems.  I  have  had  a  letter  from  your 
father,  telling  me  of  a  new  guest  we  are  to  expect. 
It  is  a  cousin  of  yours  —  a  little  nephew  of  your 
father's — your  aunt  Margaret's  son.  He  is  an  only 
child,  and,  your  father  fears,  a  good  deal  spoilt.  He 
is  coming  here  because  his  father  is  away  at  sea  and 
his  mother  is  ill  and  must  be  kept  quiet,  and  Ber- 
trand,  it  seems,  is  very  noisy." 

"  Bertrand,"  repeated  Ruby,  "  oh,  I  remember 
about  him.  I  remember  father  telling  us  about  him 
—  he  is  a  horrid  boy,  I  know." 

"Your  father  did  not  call  him  a  horrid  boy,  I'm 
sure,"  said  Miss  Hortensia. 

"  No,"  said  Mavis,  "  he  only  said  he  was  spoilt. 
And  he  said  he  was  a  pretty  little  boy,  and  nice  in 
some  ways." 

"  Well,  we  must  do  our  best  to  make  him  nicer," 
said  Miss  Hortensia ;  "  though  I  confess  I  feel  a 
little  uneasy  —  you  have  never  been  accustomed  to 
rough  bearish  ways.  And  if  Winfried  can  be  with 
you  sometimes  he  might  help  you  with  Bertrand." 


A    BOY    AND    A   BOAT.  51 

"  When  is  he  coming  ?  "  asked  Ruby. 

"Very  soon,  but  I  do  not  know  the  exact  day. 
Now  run  off,  my  dears ;  there  is  time  for  you  to  have 
half  an  hour's  play  in  the  garden  before  dinner." 

It  was  curious  that  of  the  two  little  girls  Mavis 
seemed  the  more  to  dislike  the  idea  of  the  expected 
guest. 

"  Ruby,"  she  said  rather  dolefully,  "  I  do  wish 
Bertrand  weren't  coming.  He'll  spoil  everthing,  and 
we  shan't  know  what  to  do  with  him." 

"  There's  not  much  to  spoil  that  I  see,"  said  Ruby. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  our  nice  quiet  ways.  Cousin  Hortensia  tell- 
ing us  stories  and  all  that,"  said  Mavis.  "  And  I'm 
sure  Winf ried  won't  want  to  have  to  look  after  a  rough, 
rude  little  boy.  It's  quite  different  with  us  —  Win- 
fried  likes  us  because  we're  —  ladies,  you  know,  and 
gentle  and  nice  to  him." 

Ruby  laughed. 

"  How  you  go  on  about  Winfried  —  Winf  ried  !  " 
she  said  mockingly.  "  I  think  it's  a  very  good  thing 
Bertrand  is  coming  to  put  him  down  a  bit — a  com- 
mon fisher-boy !  I  wonder  at  cousin  Hortensia.  I'm 
sure  if  father  knew  he  wouldn't  be  at  all  pleased,  but 
I'm  not  going  to  tell  him.  I  mean  to  have  some  fun 
with  Master  Winfried  before  I  have  done  with  him, 
and  I  expect  Bertrand  will  help  me." 

"  Ruby !  "  exclaimed  Mavis,  looking  startled,  "  you 
don't  mean  that  you  are  going  to  play  him  any  tricks  ?  " 


52        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

Ruby  only  laughed  again,  more  mockingly  than 
before. 

"  I'd  like  to  lock  him  up  in  the  haunted  room  in 
the  west  turret  one  night,"  she  said.  "I  do  hope 
he'd  get  a  good  fright." 

Mavis  seemed  to  have  recovered  from  her  alarm. 

"  I  don't  believe  he'd  mind  the  least  scrap,"  she 
said;  "that  shows  you  don't  understand  him  one  bit. 
He'd  like  it ;  besides,  you  say  yourself  you  think  he's 
a  fairy  boy,  so  why  should  he  be  afraid  of  fairies  ?  " 

"  Nobody's  afraid  of  fairies,  you  silly  girl.  But  if 
cousin  Hortensia  saw  anything  in  the  turret  —  and  I 
don't  believe  she  did,  —  it  wasn't  a  fairy,  it  was  quite 
different —  more  a  sort  of  witch,  I  suppose." 

"You're  always  talking  of  witches  and  wizards," 
retorted  Mavis,  who  seemed  to  be  picking  up  a  spirit 
which  rather  astonished  Ruby.  "Jlike  thinking  of 
nicer  things  —  angels  and  —  oh  Ruby  !  "  she  suddenly 
broke  off,  "  do  look  here  —  oh,  how  lovely  !  "  and 
stooping  down  she  pointed  to  a  thick  cluster  of  tur- 
quoise blossoms,  almost  hidden  in  a  corner  beneath 
the  shrubs.  Aren't  they  darlings  ?  Really  its  enough 
to  make  one  believe  in  fairies  or  kind  spirits  of  some 
kind  — to  find  forget-me-nots  like  these  in  Novem- 
ber ! "  and  she  looked  up  at  her  sister  with  delight 
dancing  in  her  eyes. 

Even  Ruby  looked  surprised. 

"  They  are  beauties,"  she  said;  "  and  I'm  almost  sure 
they  weren't  there  yesterday.  Didn't  we  come  round 
by  here,  Mavis  ?  " 


~0li  Ruby! '  &e  suddenly  hr 
off/ do  look  Vierc  —  oV>,lnow  love 
-ly  I J  p.  52 


A   BOY   AND   A   BOAT.  53 

"  Not  till  it  was  nearly  dark.  We  ran  in  this  way, 
you  know,  after  we  came  out  of  Winfried's  path," 
said  Mavis. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember,"  Ruby  replied,  and  a  half 
dreamy  look  stole  over  her  face. 

They  were  standing  on  the  lower  terrace.  This 
side  of  the  castle,  as  I  have  said,  was  much  more  shel- 
tered and  protected  than  the  other,  but  still  already 
in  November  it  was  bleak  and  bare.  The  evergreen 
shrubs  had  begun  to  look  self-satisfied 'and  important, 
as  I  think  they  always  do  in  late  autumn,  when  their 
fragile  companions  of  the  summer  are  shivering  to- 
gether in  forlorn  misery,  or  sinking  slowly  and  sadly, 
leaf  by  leaf,  brown  and  shrivelled,  into  the  parent 
bosom  of  Mother  Earth,  always  ready  to  receive  and 
hide  her  poor  children  in  their  day  of  desolation. 
Nay,  more,  far  more  than  that  does  she  for  them  in 
her  dark  but  loving  embrace ;  not  a  leaf,  not  a  tiniest 
twig  is  lost  or  mislaid  —  all,  everything,  is  cared  for 
and  restored  again,  at  the  sun's  warm  kiss  to  creep 
forth  in  ever  fresh  and  renewed  life  and  beauty.  For 
all  wre  see,  children  dear,  is  but  a  type,  faint  and 
shadowy,  of  the  real  things  that  are. 

Then  a  strange  sort  of  irritation  came  over  Ruby. 
The  soft  wondering  expression  so  new  to  her  disap- 
peared, and  she  turned  sharply  to  Mavis. 

"  Rubbish !  "  she  said.  "  Of  course  they  were  there 
yesterday.  But  they  shan't  be  there  to-morrow  — 
here  goes;"  and  she  bent  down  to  pick  the  little 
flowers. 


54        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

Mavis  stopped  her  with  a  cry. 

"  Don't  gather  them,  Ruby,"  she  said.  "  Poor  little 
things,  they  might  stay  in  their  corner  in  peace,  and 
we  could  come  and  look  at  them  every  day.  They'd 
wither  so  soon  in  the  house." 

Ruby  laughed.  She  was  much  more  careless  than 
actually  unkind,  at  least  when  kindness  cost  her 
little. 

"  What  a  baby  you  are,"  she  said  contemptuously. 
"  You  make  as  much  fuss  as  when  I  wanted  to  take 
the  thrush's  eggs  last  spring.  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
give  your  dear  Winfried  a  posy  of  them  ?  " 

"No,"  Mavis  answered,  "he  wouldn't  like  us  to 
gather  them ;  there  are  so  few  and  they  do  look  so 
sweet." 

The  next  day  was  clear  and  bright,  but  cold ; 
evidently  winter  was  coming  now.  But  old  Bertha 
had  started  the  fires  at  last,  as  the  date  on  which  it 
was  the  rule  at  the  castle  for  them  to  begin  on  was 
now  past.  So  inside  the  house  it  was  comfortable 
enough  —  in  the  inhabited  part  of  it  at  least;  though 
in  the  great  unused  rooms  round  the  tiled  hall,  where 
all  the  furniture  was  shrouded  in  ghostly-looking 
linen  covers,  and  up  the  echoing  staircase,  and  up 
still  higher  in  the  turret-rooms  where  the  wind 
whistled  in  at  one  window  and  out  again  at  the 
opposite  one,  where  Jack  Frost's  pictures  lasted  the 
same  on  the  panes  for  days  at  a  time  —  dear,  dear,  it 
was  cold,  even  Bertha  herself  allowed,  when  she  had 


A   BOY   AND   A   BOAT.  55 

to  make  her  weekly  tour  of  inspection  to  see  that  all 
was  right. 

"I  will  ask  Miss  Hortensia  not  to  let  the  little 
ladies  play  in  the  west  turret  this  Avinter,"  thought 
the  old  woman.  "  I'm  sure  it  was  there  Miss  Mavis 
caught  her  cold  last  Christmas.  A  good  fire  indeed! 
It'd  take  a  week  of  bonfires  to  warm  that  room." 

But  old  Bertha  was  mistaken,  as  you  will  see. 

There  was  no  thought  of  playing  in  the  west 
turret  this  half-holiday,  however,  for  it  was  the  right 
sort  of  day  for  a  bright  winter  walk.  And  while  the 
afternoon  was  still  young,  Ruby  and  Mavis,  warmly 
wrapt  up  in  their  fur-lined  mantles  and  hoods,  were 
racing  downstairs  to  Winfried,  who  had  come  punct- 
ually and  was  waiting  for  them,  so  Ulrica  had  come 
in  to  say,  at  the  door  in  the  archway  on  the  sea  side 
of  the  castle. 

"  What  are  you  here  for  ?  "  was  Ruby's  first  greet- 
ing. "  Why  didn't  you  come  to  the  garden  side  ? 
Aren't  you  going  to  take  us  by  the  path  between  the 
rocks,  down  below  the  field  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  Ruby,"  said  the  boy,  his  cap  in  his 
hand.  "  We're  going  another  way  to-day.  I  think 
you  will  like  it  just  as  well.  We  must  go  down  to 
the  cove  first." 

"/  don't  mind,"  said  Ruby,  dancing  on  in  front  of 
the  two  others ;  "  but  I'm  afraid  Mavis  has  been 
dreaming  of  that  nice  cosy  little  path.  She  wouldn't 
let  me  even  look  for  the  entrance  to  it  yesterday; 
she  said  we  should  wait  for  you  to  show  it  us." 


56  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

"  I  think  Miss  Mavis  will  like  to-day's  way  just  as 
well,"  Winfried  repeated. 

They  were  some  little  distance  down  the  cliff  by 
this  time.  It  was  very  clear  and  bright ;  for  once, 
the  waves,  even  though  the  tide  was  close  up  to  the 
shore,  seemed  in  a  peaceful  mood,  and  only  as  a 
distant  murmur  came  the  boom  of  their  dashing 
against  the  rocks,  round  to  the  right  beyond  the 
little  sheltered  nook.  Winfried  stood  still  for  a 
moment  and  gazed  down  seawards,  shading  his  eyes 
with  his  hand,  for  winter  though  it  was,  the  after- 
noon sunshine  was  almost  dazzling. 

"What  is  it?  What  are  you  looking  for?"  asked 
Ruby,  coming  back  a  step  or  two  and  standing  beside 
him.  "  Do  come  on ;  it's  too  cold  to  hang  about." 

For  once  Winfried  was  less  polite  than  usual. 
He  did  not  answer  Ruby,  but  turned  to  Mavis,  who 
was  a  little  behind. 

"Do  you  see  anything?"  he  asked. 

And  Mavis,  following  his  eyes,  answered,  "  Yes  — 
there's  —  oh,  there's  a  little  boat  drifting  in  —  a  tiny 
boat  —  is  it  drifting  ?  No  ;  there's  some  one  in  it,  — 
some  one  with  a  blue  cloak;  no,  it  must  have  been 
the  waves  just  touching;  the  waves  are  so  blue 
to-day." 

The  boy  gave  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  said.  Then  he  sprang  forward 
eagerly :  "  Come  on,"  he  cried,  "  we  mustn't  be  late." 

Ruby  followed,  not  too  pleased. 


A  BOY   AND   A   BOAT.  57 

"  I've  as  good  eyes  as  Mavis,"  she  said.  "  Why 
didn't  you  ask  me?  I  don't  believe  there's  a  boat  at 
all." 

But  even  Ruby  had  to  give  in  when  in  a  few 
minutes  they  found  themselves  at  the  edge  of  the 
cove,  on  the  little  half-circle  of  sand  which  was  all 
that  the  sea  left  uncovered  at  full  tide.  For  there 
was  a  boat,  a  most  unmistakable  and  delightful  boat, 
though  scarcely  larger  than  a  sofa,  and  looking  like  a 
perfect  toy  as  it  rocked  gently  on  the  rippling  water. 

"  Goodness  !  "  said  Ruby,  —  and  it  must  be  allowed 
that  goodness  is  a  prettier  word  than  rubbish,  — 
"  how  in  the  world  did  that  boat  come  here  ?  Did 
you  bring  it,  Winfriecl  ?  No,  for  if  you  had  you 
wouldn't  have  been  looking  to  see  if  it  had  come. 
But  is  it  your  boat  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  boy  ;  "  it's  lent  me,  on  purpose 
for  you  and  Miss  Mavis.  Get  in,  please." 

Ruby  came  forward,  but  hesitated. 

"Are  you  sure  it's  safe?"  she  said.  "You  know 
the  sea  is  very  rough  —  round  there  near  the  village. 
And  this  is  such  a  very  little  boat." 

Winfried  laughed. 

"  It's  as  safe  as  —  as  the  safest  thing  you  can 
think  of,"  he  said.  "You're  not  afraid,  Miss  Mavis." 

For  all  answer  the  little  girl  sprang  into  the  boat ; 
it  danced  under  her  feet,  but  she  only  laughed. 

"  Come  on,  Ruby,"  she  called  out ;  "  it's  lovely." 

Ruby  stepped  in  cautiously.     The  little  boat  was 


58         THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

most  dainty  and  pretty.  There  were  cushions  for 
the  little  girls,  and  one  or  two  soft  rich  coloured 
shawls,  of  a  fashion  and  material  such  as  they  had 
never  seen  before. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Ruby,  settling  herself  in  the  most 
comfortable  place  and  drawing  the  pretty  rugs  round 
her,  "  what  a  nice  little  boat !  Your  friends  must  be 
very  rich,  Winfried.  But  I  know  what  I  know;" 
and  she  shook  her  head  mysteriously. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Ruby  ?  "  said  Mavis. 

Winfried  was  busy  with  his  oars  and  did  not  seem 
to  be  attending  to  them.  Ruby  leant  forward  and 
whispered,  close  into  her  sister's  ear,  "  Mermaids !  " 
Then  seeing  or  thinking  that  the  boy  was  not  listen- 
ing, she  went  on.  "You  know  mermaids  are  very 
rich.  They  dive  down  into  the  shipwrecked  vessels 
and  fish  up  all  the  treasures.  I  dare  say  these  shawls 
have  come  from  some  strange  country,  right  over  at 
the  other  side  of  the  world.  Indeed,  some  people  say 
that  the  horrid  things  sing  to  make  the  sailors  turn 
to  look  for  them  and  get  their  ships  all  in  among  the 
rocks." 

Mavis  looked  puzzled. 

"  I  don't  think  that's  mermaids"  she  said.  "  There's 
another  name  for  those  naughty,  unkind  creatures." 

"Syrens,"  came  Winfried's  voice  from  the  other 
end  of  the  boat.  And  he  looked  up  with  a  smile  at 
the  little  girls'  start  of  surprise.  "  Don't  be  afraid," 
he  said,  "my  friends  are  neither  mermaids  nor  syrens  ; 


A    BOY   AND    A   BOAT.  59 

you're  not  going  to  be  shipwrecked  in  this  boat,  I 
promise  you." 

Somehow  the  boy  seemed  to  have  gained  a  new 
kind  of  dignity  now  that  the  children  were,  so  to  say, 
his  guests.  Ruby  said,  "  Thank  you,"  quite  meekly 
and  submissively  for  her. 

Then  they  were  all  quite  silent  for  a  while,  only 
the  plash  of  Winfried's  oars  broke  the  stillness.  And 
somehow  out  there  on  the  water  it  seemed  to  have 
grown  warmer,  at  least  the  children  felt  conscious  of 
neither  cold  nor  heat,  it  was  just  perfectly  pleasant. 
And  the  sun  shone  on  mildly.  There  was  a  thorough 
feeling  of  "  afternoon,"  with  its  quiet  and  mystery 
and  yet  faint  expectation,  such  as  one  seldom  has 
except  in  summer. 

"  It  is  lovely,"  said  Mavis  presently ;  "  only  I'm  a 
little  afraid  I'm  getting  sleepy." 

"No,  you  needn't  be  afraid,"  said  Winfried;  and 
just  as  he  said  the  words,  Mavis  started,  as  some- 
thing flitted  against  her  cheek. 

"  Ruby,  Ruby!  "she  exclaimed,  "did  you  see  it? 
A  butterfly  —  a  blue  butterfly  —  in  November  !  Oh, 
where  has  it  gone  to?"  and  she  gazed  all  round 
anxiously. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE  FISHERMAN'S  HUT. 

"...     There  are  tilings  which  through  the  gazing  eye 
Reach  the  full  soul  and  thrill  it  into  love." 

To  MY  CHILD. 

RUBY  burst  out  laughing. 

"  You've  been  asleep  and  dreaming,  you  silly  girl," 
she  said.  "  Winfried,  do  you  hear  ?  Mavis  says  a 
blue  butterfly  flew  past." 

"  It  kissed  my  cheek,"  said  Mavis. 

Winfried  smiled :  "  It's  quite  possible,"  he  said. 

Ruby  was  just  turning  upon  him  with  her  laughter, 
when  something  made  Tier  jump  in  turn.  Something 
cold  and  damp  touched  her  hand :  she  had  taken  her 
glove  off  and  was  dabbling  idly  in  the  water. 

"  Ugh,"  she  said,  "  I  do  believe  that  was  a  toad." 

The  laugh  was  against  her  now. 

"  A  toad,  Ruby,  out  at  sea !  What  are  you  think- 
ing of?"  said  Mavis.  "You  needn't  make  fun  of  my 
butterfly  if  you  talk  of  toads." 

"  Well,  it  was  something  slimy  and  horrid  like  a 
toad,"  said  Ruby.  "  Perhaps  it  was  only  a  fish.  But 
whatever  it  was,  I  believe  it  was  a  trick  of  Winfried's. 
I'm  sure,  positive  sure,  you're  a  wizard,  Winfried." 

GO 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  HUT.  61 

She  was  half  in  fun  and  half  in  earnest.  But  the 
boy  took  it  quite  composedly. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  he  said;  "and  no  more  is  gran. 
But  —  people  don't  understand,  you  see.  If  they 
see  that  one's  a  bit  different  from  others  they've  no 
words  for  it  but  wizard  and  uncanny,  and  they  get 
frightened  when  it  should  be  just  the  other  way." 

This  was  much  more  of  a  speech  than  the  fisher- 
boy  was  in  the  habit  of  making.  Both  the  children 
listened  with  interest. 

"  How  is  your  gran  different  from  others  ?  "  asked 
Ruby. 

"  You'll  see  it  in  his  face  ;  at  least,  I  think  you 
will,"  said  Winfried.  "  But  now  I  mustn't  talk,  we're 
close  to  the  little  creek." 

He  got  the  boat  in  most  cleverly,  to  a  very  tiny 
creek,  where  was  a  little  landing-place,  and  leading 
upwards  from  it  a  flight  of  steps  cut  in  the  rock. 

"  How  funny,  how  very  funny  we  never  saw  this 
place  before,"  exclaimed  the  little  girls.  "  Do  you 
keep  the  boat  here,  Winfried  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  he  replied,  "  but  not  to-day.  We 
won't  need  it  again." 

He  folded  up  the  shawls  and  laid  them  neatly  on 
the  cushions,  then  he  drew  in  the  oars,  and  in  another 
moment  he  had  helped  the  children  to  get  on  shore, 
and  all  three  had  mounted  several  of  the  rock  steps 
when  Winfried  called  to  them  to  stop  for  a  moment. 

"  Look  down,"  he  said ;  and  as  he  spoke,  the  little 


62  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

girls  saw  something  moving  there  below  where  they 
had  just  landed.  It  was  the  little  boat;  calmly  and 
steadily  it  was  moving  out  to  sea,  though  it  had  no 
sails,  and  the  oars  were  lying  just  as  Winfried  had 
drawn  them  in. 

"O  Winfried,"  exclaimed  Ruby;  "the  dear  little 
boat,  it's  drifting  out,  it  will  be  lost.  Can't  you 
jump  into  the  water  and  drag  it  back  ?  " 

"It's  all  right,"  said  the  boy.  "It's  going  home 
till  it's  needed  again.  I  only  wanted  you  to  see  how 
quietly  it  goes  off,  once  its  business  is  done." 

And  he  turned  and  began  to  whistle  softly  as  he 
went  on  up  the  steps. 

"JVow,"  said  Ruby,  half  triumphant  and  half 
frightened,  in  a  whisper  to  Mavis,  "  now,  can  you  say 
he's  not  a  wizard?  I  think  cousin  Hortensia  was 
very  silly  to  let  us  come  with  him,  but  it  was  all  you, 
Mavis,  going  on  about  him  so.  If  we're  not  turned 
into  toads  or  lizards  before  we  get  home,  I  —  " 

"  Butterflies  would  be  nicer,"  said  Mavis,  laughing. 
"  I'll  ask  Winfried  and  his  gran  to  make  me  into  a 
blue  butterfly,  and  you  can  be  a  yellow  one  if  you 
like." 

She  seemed  to  have  caught  something  of  Win- 
fried's  happy  confidence.  Ruby  looked  at  her  in 
surprise,  but  it  was  mixed  with  anger.  What  she 
was  going  to  have  said  I  don't  know,  for  just  then 
their  guide  called  out  again. 

"Here   we  are,"  he    said,  "if   you'll   stoop   your 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  HUT.  63 

heads  a  little ; "  and  looking  up,  the  children  saw 
before  them  a  narrow,  low  archway,  at  the  entrance 
to  which  the  steps  stopped.  Ruby  hung  back  a 
little,  but  Mavis  ran  forward. 

"It's  all  right,  Ruby,"  she  called  back;    "and  oh, 
what  a  pretty  garden !     Do  come  quick." 

Ruby  followed.  It  was  only  necessary  to  stoop 
for  a  moment  or  two,  then  she  found  herself  beside 
her  sister,  and  she  could  not  help  joining  in  her  ex- 
clamation of  pleasure.  Somehow  or  other  they  had 
arrived  at  the  back  of  the  cottage,  which  at  this  side, 
they  now  saw,  stood  in  a  pretty  and  sheltered  garden. 
Perhaps  garden  is  hardly  the  word  to  use,  for  though 
there  were  flowers  of  more  than  one  kind  and  plants, 
there  were  other  things  one  does  not  often  see  in  a 
garden.  There  were  ever  so  many  little  bowers  and 
grottoes,  cleverly  put  together  of  different  kinds  of 
queerly-shaped  and  queerly-coloured  fragments  of 
rock ;  there  were  two  or  three  basins  hollowed  out 
of  the  same  stones,  in  which  clear  water  sparkled, 
and  brilliant  seaweed  of  every  shade,  from  delicate 
pink  to  blood-red  crimson,  glowed ;  there  were  shells 
of  strange  and  wonderful  form,  and  tints  as  many  as 
those  of  the  rainbow,  arranged  so  that  at  a  little 
distance  they  looked  like  groups  of  flowers  —  in 
short,  Ruby  was  not  far  wrong  when  returning  to 
her  old  idea,  she  whispered  to  Mavis,  "  It's  a  mer- 
maid's garden.  And  I  only  hope,"  she  went  on 
in  the  same  tone,  "  we  shan't  find  that  somehow  or 


64  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

other  he  has  got  us  down  under  the  sea  without  our 
knowing." 

Mavis  broke  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  she  said.  "  Look  up ;  there's 
the  good  old  sun,  smiling  as  usual,  with  no  water 
between  him  and  us.  And  see  here,  Ruby,"  and  she 
ran  forward,  "  there  are  earth  flowers  too,  as  well  as 
sea  ones." 

She  was  right ;  on  a  border  sheltered  by  the  wall 
of  the  cottage  were  great  masses  of  fern,  still  green 
and  luxuriant,  and  here  and  there  among  them 
clumps,  brilliantly  blue,  of  the  tender,  loving  forget- 
me-not. 

"  It's  just  like  that  bunch  of  it  we  found  on  our 
terrace,"  said  Mavis,  joyfully.  "I  really  could  be- 
lieve you  had  brought  a  root  of  it  and  planted  it  there 
for  us,  Winfried.  I  never  saw  such  beauties." 

"  Gran  loves  it,"  was  all  the  boy  said.  Then  he 
led  them  round  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and  opened 
the  door  for  them  to  enter. 

Inside  the  cottage  all  was  very  plain,  but  very, 
very  neat  and  clean.  In  an  old-fashioned  large 
wooden  arm-chair  by  the  fire  sat  old  Adam.  He 
looked  very  old,  older  than  the  children  had  ex- 
pected, and  a  kind  of  aw~e  came  over  them.  His 
hair  was  white,  but  scarcely  whiter  than  his  face, 
his  hands  were  unusually  delicate  and  refined,  though 
gnarled  and  knotted  as  are  those  of  aged  people. 
He  looked  up  with  a  smile,  for  his  sight  was  still 
good,  as  his  visitors  came  in. 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  HUT.  65 

"  You  will  forgive  my  not  standing  up,  my  dear 
little  ladies,"  he  said.  "  You  see  I  am  very  old.  It 
is  good  of  you  to  come  to  see  me.  I  have  often  seen 
you,  oftener  than  you  knew,  since  you  were  very 
tiny  things." 

"  Have  you  lived  here  a  long  time,  then  ?  "  asked 
Ruby.  ' 

"  It  would  seem  a  long  time  to  you,  though  not  to 
me,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "  And  long  ago  before 
that,  I  knew  your  grandmother  and  the  lady  who 
takes  care  of  you.  When  I  was  a  young  man,  and  a 
middle-aged  man  too  for  that  matter,  my  home  was 
where  theirs  was.  So  I  remember  your  mother 
when  she  was  as  little  as  you." 

"  Oh,  how  nice,"  exclaimed  Mavis.  "  Was  our 
mother  like  us,  Mr.  Adam?" 

"  You  may  be  very  like  her  if  you  wish,"  he  said 
kindly. 

But  their  attention  was  already  distracted.  On  a 
small  table,  close  beside  the  old  man's  chair,  in  what 
at  first  sight  looked  like  a  delicate  china  cup,  but 
was  in  reality  a  large  and  lovely  shell,  was  a  posy, 
freshly  gathered  apparently,  of  the  same  beautiful 
forget-me-nots. 

"  Oh,  these  are  out  of  your  garden,"  said  Ruby ; 
"  how  do  you  manage  to  make  them  grow  so  well  and 
so  late  in  the  year?" 

"  The  part  of  the  garden  where  they  grow  is  not 
mine,"  said  Adam  quietly;  "it  belongs  to  a  friend 


66  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

who  tends  it  herself.  I  could  not  succeed  as  she 
does." 

"  Is  —  is  she  a  mermaid  ?  "  asked  Ruby,  her  eyes 
growing  very  round. 

"No,  my  dear.  Mermaids'  flowers,  if  they  have 
any,  would  scarcely  be  like  these,  I  think." 

"You  speak  as  if  there  are  no  such  things  as 
mermaids ;  do  you  not  think  there  are  ? "  said 
Mavis. 

Old  Adam  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  never  seen  one ;  but  I  would  never  take 
upon  myself  to  say  there  is  nothing  but  what  I've 
seen." 

"  Tell  us  about  the  friend  who  plants  these  in  your 
garden,"  said  Ruby,  touching  the  forget-me-nots. 
"  Could  it  have  been  she  who  put  some  on  the 
terrace  at  the  castle  for  us  ? " 

"  Maybe,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Is  she  a  lady,  or  —  or  a  fairy,  or  what  is  she,  if 
she's  not  a  mermaid  ?  "  asked  Ruby. 

Before  the  old  man  could  answer,  Winfried's  voice 
made  her  start  in  surprise. 

"  She's  a  princess,"  he  said ;  and  he  smiled  all  over 
his  face  when  he  saw  Ruby's  astonishment. 

"  Oh ! "  was  all  she  said,  but  her  manner  became 
more  respectful  to  both  Adam  and  his  grandson  from 
that  moment. 

Then  the  old  man  made  a  sign  to  Winfried,  and 
the  boy  went  out  of  the  room,  coming  back  in  a 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  HUT.  67 

moment  with  a  little  plain  wooden  tray,  on  which 
were  two  glasses  of  rich  tempting-looking  milk  and 
a  basket  of  cakes,  brown  and  crisp,  of  a  kind  the 
children  had  never  seen  before.  He  set  the  tray 
down  on  a  table  which  stood  in  the  window,  and 
Adam  begged  the  children  to  help  themselves. 

They  did  so  gladly.  Never  had  cake  and  milk 
tasted  so  delicious.  Ruby  felt  rather  small  when  she 
thought  of  her  condescending  offer  of  soup  from  the 
castle  kitchen. 

"  But  then,"  she  reflected,  "  of  course  I  didn't 
knoAv  —  how  could  I  ?  —  that  a  princess  comes  to  see 
them.  I  dare  say  she  sends  them  these  delicious  cakes. 
I  wish  Bertha  could  make  some  like  them." 

"  I  never  saw  cakes  like  these  before,"  said  little 
Mavis.  "  They  are  so  good." 

Old  Adam  seemed  pleased. 

"  My  boy  isn't  a  bad  cook,"  he  said  proudly,  with 
a  glance  at  Winfried. 

"  Did  you  make  them  ? "  said  Ruby,  staring  at 
Winfried.  "  I  thought  perhaps  as  a  princess  comes 
to  see  you  that  she  sent  you  them  —  they  are  so  very 
good." 

Winfried  could  not  help  laughing:  something  in 
Ruby's  speech  seemed  to  him  so  comical. 

Then  at  the  little  girls'  request  he  took  them  out 
again  to  examine  some  of  the  wonders  of  the  grotto- 
garden.  He  fished  out  some  lovely  sprays  of  sea- 
weed for  them,  and  gave  them  also  several  of  the 


68  THE   CHILDREN   OF    THE   CASTLE. 

prettiest  shells ;  best  of  all,  lie  gathered  a  sweet 
nosegay  of  the  forget-me-nots,  which  Mavis  said  she 
would  take  home  to  cousin  Hortensia.  And  then,  as 
the  sun  by  this  time  had  travelled  a  long  way  down- 
wards, they  ran  in  to  bid  old  Adam  good-bye,  and  to 
thank  him,  before  setting  off  homewards. 

"  How  are  we  going  ?  "  asked  Ruby.  "  You've  sent 
away  the  boat." 

"  I  could  call  it  back  again,  but  I  think  we  had 
better  go  a  shorter  way,"  said  Winfried.  "You're 
not  frightened  of  a  little  bit  of  the  dark,  are  you? 
There's  a  nice  short  cut  to  the  rock  path  through  one 
of  the  arbours." 

The  little  girls  followed  him,  feeling  very  curious, 
and,  perhaps,  just  a  tiny  scrap  afraid.  He  led  them 
into  one  of  the  grottoes,  which,  to  their  surprise,  they 
found  a  good  deal  larger  than  they  had  expected,  for 
it  lengthened  out  at  the  back  into  a  sort  of  cave. 
This  cave  was  too  dark  for  them  to  see  its  size,  but 
Winfried  plunged  fearlessly  into  its  recesses. 

"  I  must  see  that  the  way  is  clear,"  he  said,  as  he 
left  them  ;  "  wait  where  you  are  for  a  few  minutes." 

Ruby  was  not  very  pleased  at  being  treated  so 
unceremoniously. 

"  I  don't  call  waiting  here  a  quick  way  of  getting 
home,"  she  said,  "  and  I  hate  the  dark.  I've  a  good 
mind  to  run  out  and  go  back  the  regular  way, 
Mavis." 

"  Oh  no,"  Mavis  was  beginning,  but  just  then  both 


69 

children  started.  It  seemed  to  have  grown  suddenly 
dark  outside,  as  if  a  cloud  or  mist  had  come  over  the 
sky  ;  and  as  they  gazed  out,  feeling  rather  bewildered, 
a  clear  voice  sounded  through  the  grotto. 

"  Ruby  ;  Mavis,"  it  said. 

Ruby  turned  to  Mavis. 

"It's  a  trick  of  that  boy's,"  she  said.  "  He  wants 
to  startle  us.  He  has  no  business  to  call  us  by  our 
names  like  that.  I'll  not  stay ;  "  and  she  ran  out. 
Mavis  was  following  her  to  bring  her  back  when  a 
ray  of  light  —  scarcely  a  ray,  rather,  I  should  say,  a 
soft  glow  —  seemed  to  fill  the  entrance  to  the  grotto. 
And  gradually,  as  her  eyes  got  used  to  it,  she  dis- 
tinguished a  lovely  figure  —  a  lady,  with  soft  silvery- 
blue  garments  floating  round  her  and  a  sweet  grave 
face,  was  standing  there  looking  at  her.  A  strange 
thrill  passed  through  the  child,  yet  even  as  she  felt 
it  she  knew  it  was  not  a  thrill  of  fear.  And  some- 
thing seemed  to  draw  her  eyes  upwards  —  a  touch  she 
could  not  have  resisted  if  she  had  wished  —  till  they 
found  their  resting-place  in  meeting  those  that  were 
bent  upon  her  —  those  beautiful,  wonderful  blue  eyes, 
eyes  like  none  she  had  ever  seen,  or  —  nay,  she  had 
heard  of  such  eyes  —  they  were  like  those  of  the  fairy 
lady  in  her  old  cousin's  dream.  And  now  Mavis 
knew  in  part  why  the  strange  vision  did  not  seem 
strange  to  her;  why,  rather,  she  felt  as  if  she  had 
always  known  it  would  come,  as  if  all  her  life  she 
had  been  expecting  this  moment. 


70  THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

"  Mavis,"  said  the  soft  yet  clear  and  thrilling  voice, 
"  you  see  me,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  girl,  speaking  steadily,  though 
in  a  whisper,  "I  see  you,  and  I  see  your  eyes.  Who 
are  you  ?  I  may  ask  you,  may  I  not?  " 

The  fairy  —  if  fairy  she  was  —  smiled. 

"  I  have  many  names,"  she  said;  "but  if  you  like 
you  may  think  of  me  by  the  one  Winfried  loves.  He 
calls  me  '  Princess  with  the  Forget-me-not  Eyes,'  or 
4  Princess  Forget-me-not.'  ' 

"  Yes,"  said  Mavis,  "  I  like  that ;  and  I  will  never 
forget  you,  princess." 

Again  the  lovely  vision  smiled. 

"  No,  my  child,  you  never  will,  for  to  tell  you  a 
secret,  you  cannot,  even  if  you  wished.  Afterwards, 
when  you  know  me  better,  you  will  see  how  well  my 
name  suits  me.  But  it  does  not  seem  to  all  a  sweet 
name,  as  I  think  it  always  will  to  you,"  and  she 
sighed  a  little.  "  There  are  those  who  long  to  forget 
me ;  those  who  wish  they  had  never  seen  me." 

The  sadness  in  her  eyes  was  reflected  in  the 
child's. 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  "  asked  Mavis. 

The  blue-eyed  princess  shook  her  head. 

"  Nay,  my  darling,  I  cannot  tell  you,  and  I  scarce 
would  if  I  could,"  she  said  gently.  But  then  a 
brighter  look  came  over  her  face  again.  "Don't  look 
so  sad.  They  change  again  some  of  them,  and  seek 
me  as  earnestly  as  they  would  have  before  fled  from 


Vm5  voice,  "you  see  me ,  my  child  *? ' 

*  **  —,. 


THE   FISHERMAN  S    HUT.  <1 

me.  And  some  day  you  may  help  and  guide  such 
seekers,  simple  as  you  are,  my  little  Mavis.  Now  I 
must  go  —  call  Ruby  —  she  would  not  stay  for  me  ; 
she  has  not  yet  seen  me.  But  she  heard  my  voice, 
that  is  better  than  nothing.  Good-bye,  little  Mavis, 
and  if  you  want  me  again  before  I  come  of  myself, 
seek  me  in  the  west  turret." 

Mavis's  face  lighted  up. 

"  Then  it  was  you  —  you  are  cousin  Hortensia's 
fairy,  and  it  wasn't  a  dream  after  all.  And  of  course 
you  must  be  a  fairy,  for  that  was  ever,  ever  so  long 
ago.  She  was  a  little  girl  then,  and  now  she  is  quite 
old,  and  you  look  as  young  as  —  as  - 

"  As  who  or  what  ?  "  asked  the  princess,  smiling 
again. 

"  As  the  Sleeping  Beauty  in  the  wood,"  replied 
Mavis,  after  deep  consideration. 

At  this  the  princess  did  more  than  smile ;  she 
laughed,  —  the  same  clear  delicate  laugh  which  the 
children  had  heard  that  day  in  the  distance. 

And  Mavis  laughed  too ;  she  could  not  help  it. 

"  May  I  tell  cousin  Hortensia ?"  she  asked.  "Oh 
do  say  I  may." 

" You  may,"  said  Forget-me-not,  " if  —  if  you  can" 

And  while  Mavis  was  wondering  what  she  meant, 
a  breath  of  soft  wind  seemed  to  blow  past  her,  and 
glancing  up,  the  princess  was  gone ! 

Mavis  rubbed  her  eyes.  Had  she  been  asleep  ?  It 
seemed  a  long  time  since  Winfried  told  her  and  Ruby 


72  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

to  wait  for  him  in  the  grotto ;  and  where  was  Ruby  ? 
Why  did  she  not  come  back  ?  Mavis  began  to  feel 
uneasy.  Surely  she  had  been  asleep  —  for  —  was  she 
asleep  still?  Looking  round  her,  she  saAV  that  she 
was  no  longer  in  the  grotto-cave  behind  old  Adam's 
cottage,  but  standing  in  the  archway  at  the. sea  side 
of  the  castle  —  the  archway  I  have  told  you  of  into 
which  opened  the  principal  entrance  to  the  grim  old 
building.  And  as  she  stood  there,  silent  and  per- 
plexed, uncertain  whether  she  was  not  still  dream- 
ing, she  heard  voices  coming  near.  The  first  she 
could  distinguish  was  Ruby's. 

"  There  you  are,  Mavis,  I  declare,"  she  exclaimed. 
"Now  it's  too  bad  of  you  to  have  run  on  so  fast 
without  telling,  and  I've  been  fussing  about  you 
all  the  way  home,  though  Winfried  said  he  was 
sure  we  should  find  you  here.  How  did  you  get 
back?" 

"  How  did  you?  "  asked  Mavis  in  return.     "And 
why  didn't  you  come  back  to  me  in  the  grotto  ?     I  - 
I  waited  ever  so  long,  and  then  —    '  but  that  was  all 
she  could  say,  though  a  smile  broke  over  her  face 
when  she  thought  of  what  she  had  seen. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  been  asleep,"  said  Ruby 
impatiently. 

"  And  having  pleasant  dreams,"  added  Winfried. 
"But  all's  well  that  ends  well.  Won't  you  run  in 
now,  my  little  ladies,  and  let  Miss  Hortensia  see  that 
I've  brought  you  safe  back.  It  is  cold  and  dark 
standing  out  here,  and  I  must  be  off  home." 


73 

"  Good-night,  then,"  said  Ruby ;  "  you're  a  very 
queer  boy,  but  you  brought  me  home  all  right  any- 
way, and  those  cakes  were  very  good." 

"  You  will  come  to  see  us  soon  again,  won't  you, 
Winfried?"  said  Mavis,  who  felt  as  if  she  had  a  great 
deal  to  ask  which  only  he  could  answer,  though  with 
Ruby  there  beside  her  she  could  not  have  explained 
what  she  wanted  to  know. 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,  if  you  want  me,"  said  the  boy. 
"Don't  be  puzzled,  Miss  Mavis,  pleasant  dreams 
don't  do  any  one  harm." 

And  as  they  pushed  open  the  great,  nail-studded 
door  which  was  never  locked  till  after  nightfall, 
Winfried  ran  off. 

They  stood  still  for  a  moment  just  inside  the  en- 
trance. They  could  hear  him  whistling  as  he  went, 
smoothly  at  first,  then  it  seemed  to  come  in  jerks, 
going  on  for  a  moment  or  two  and  then  suddenly 
stopping,  to  begin  again  as  suddenly. 

"  He's  jumping  down  the  cliff.  I  can  hear  it  by 
his  whistle,"  said  Ruby.  "  How  dangerous  !  " 

"  He's  very  sure-footed,"  said  Mavis  with  a  little 
sigh.  She  was  feeling  tired — and  —  was  it  a  dream? 
If  so,  how  had  she  got  home  ?  Had  the  fairy  lady 
wrapped  her  round  in  her  cloak  of  mist  and  flown 
with  her  to  the  castle?  Mavis  could  not  tell,  and 
somehow  Ruby  did  not  ask  her  again. 

"  How  did  you  come  home,  Ruby  ?  "  Mavis  asked 
as  they  were  going  along  the  passage  to  their  sitting- 
room. 


74  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE    CASTLE. 

"  Oh,"  said  Ruby,  "  Winfried  took  me  down  some 
steps,  and  then  up  some  others,  and  before  I  knew 
where  we  were,  we  were  in  the  rock  path  not  far 
from  home.  It  was  like  magic.  I  can't  make  out 
that  boy,"  she  said  mysteriously ;  "  but  we're  not 
turned  into  frogs  or  toads  yet.  Here  we  are,  cousin 
Hortensia,"  she  went  on,  as  the  good  lady  suddenly 
appeared  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  "  safe  home  from 
the  wizard's  haunts." 

But  Miss  Hortensia  only  smiled. 

"I  was  not  uneasy,"  she  said.  "I  thought  you 
would  be  quite  safe." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

BERTRAND. 

"But  the  unkind  and  the  unruly, 
And  the  sort  who  eat  unduly, 

*  *  *  * 

There  is  cniite  a  different  story." 

Good  and  Bad  Children.  —  Louis  STEVENSON. 

THEY  were  just  beginning  tea,  and  Ruby's  tongue 
was  going  fast  as  she  described  to  Miss  Hortensia  all 
that  happened  that  afternoon,  while  Mavis  sat  half- 
dreamily  wondering  what  the  fairy  lady  had  meant 
by  saying  she  might  tell  her  cousin  about  her  "  if  she 
could"  when  there  came  a  sudden  and  unusual 
sound  that  made  them  all  start.  It  was  the  clanging 
of  the  great  bell  at  the  principal  entrance  on  the 
south  side  —  the  entrance  by  which,  you  remember, 
all  visitors,  except  those  coming  by  sea,  came  to  the 
castle. 

"Who  can  that  be  ?  "  exclaimed  Ruby,  jumping  up 
and  looking  very  pleased  —  Ruby  loved  any  excite- 
ment. "  Can  it  be  father  ?  What  fun  if  he's  come 
to  surprise  us  !  Only  I  hope  he  won't  have  forgotten 
our  presents.  He  generally  asks  us  what  we  want 
before  he  comes." 

Mavis   had   grown   a   little    pale ;    somehow    the 

75 


7b  THE   CHILDREN   OF    THE   CASTLE. 

things  that  Ruby  was  frightened  of  never  alarmed 
her,  and  yet  she  was  more  easily  startled  by  others 
that  Ruby  rather  enjoyed. 

"  I  hope  it  isn't  a  message  to  say  that  anything  is 
the  matter  with  dear  father,"  she  said  anxiously. 

Miss  Hortensia  got  up  from  her  seat  and  went  to 
the  door.  She  did  not  seem  frightened,  but  still 
rather  uneasy. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  she  began,  "  I'm  afraid  —  and  yet  I 
should  not  speak  of  it  that  way  ;  it  is  not  kind.  But 
I  did  so  ask  them  to  give  us  notice  of  his  coming." 

She  had  left  the  room  almost  before  she  had  fin- 
ished speaking.  The  children  looked  at  each  other. 

" 1  say,  Mavis,"  said  Ruby,  "it's  Bertrand  !  Don't 
you  think  we  might  run  out  and  see  ?  " 

"  No,"  Mavis  replied  decidedly,  "  certainly  not. 
Cousin  Hortensia  would  have  told  us  to  come  if  she 
had  wanted  us." 

But  they  went  to  the  open  door  and  stood  close 
beside  it,  listening  intently.  Then  came  the  sound 
of  old  Joseph's  steps  along  the  stone  passage  from 
the  part  of  the  house  which  he  and  Bertha  —  Joseph 
was  Bertha's  husband  —  inhabited,  then  the  drawing 
back  of  the  bolts  and  bars,  and,  most  interesting  and 
exciting  of  all,  a  noise  of  horses  stamping  and  shak- 
ing their  harness  as  if  glad  to  have  got  to  the  end  of 
their  journey.  Then  followed  voices  ;  and  in  a 
minute  or  two  the  children  heard  Miss  Hortensia 
coming  back,  speaking  as  she  came, 


BERTRAND.  77 

"  You  must  be  very  cold,  my  clear  boy,  and  hungry 
too,"  she  was  saying.  "  We  are  just  beginning  tea, 
so  you  had  better  come  in  at  once  as  you  are." 

"It's  terribly  cold,  and  that  fool  of  a  driver 
wouldn't  come  any  faster ;  he  said  his  horses  were 
tired.  I  wish  /  could  have  got  a  cut  at  them  — 
what  are  horses  for?"  was  the  reply  to  Miss  Hor- 
tensia's  kind  speech. 

Mavis  touched  Ruby. 

"  Come  in.  Cousin  Hortensia  wouldn't  like  to  see 
us  standing  at  the  door  like  this,"  she  said. 

They  sat  down  at  their  places  again,  only  getting 
up  as  Miss  Hortensia  came  in. 

She  was  followed  by  a  boy.  He  was  about  the 
height  of  the  twins,  broad  and  strong-looking, 
wrapped  up  in  a  rich  fur-lined  coat,  and  with  a 
travelling  cap  of  the  same  fur  still  on  his  head.  He 
was  dark-haired  and  dark-eyed,  a  handsome  boy  with 
a  haughty,  rather  contemptuous  expression  of  face  — 
an  expression  which  it  did  not  take  much  to  turn 
into  a  scowl  if  he  was  annoyed  or  put  out. 

"These  are  your  cousins,  Bertram! ;  your  cousins 
Ruby  and  Mavis  —  you  have  heard  of  them,  I  am 
sure,  though  you  have  never  met  each  other  before." 

Bertrand  looked  up  coolly. 

"  I  knew  there  were  girls  here,"  he  answered. 
"  Mother  said  so.  But  I  don't  care  for  girls  —  I  told 
mother  so.  I'm  awfully  hungry  ;  "  and  he  began  to 
pull  forward  a  chair. 


78        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE 

"  My  dear,"  said  Miss  Hortensia,  "  do  you  know 
you  have  not  taken  off  your  cap  yet?  You  must 
take  off  your  coat  too,  but,  above  all,  your  cap." 

Bertrand  put  up  his  hand  and  slowly  drew  off  his 
cap. 

"  Mother  never  minds,"  he  said.  But  there  was  a 
slight  touch  of  apology  in  the  words. 

Then,  more  for  his  own  comfort  evidently  than 
out  of  any  sense  of  courtesy,  he  pulled  off  his  heavy 
coat  and  flung  it  on  to  a  chair.  The  little  girls  had 
not  yet  spoken  to  him,  they  felt  too  much  taken 
aback. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  shy  and  strange,  and  that  makes 
him  seem  rough,"  thought  Mavis,  and  she  began 
drawing  forward  another  chair. 

"  Will  you  sit  here  ?  "  she  was  saying,  when  Ber- 
trand pushed  past  her. 

"  I'll  sit  by  the  fire,"  he  said,  and  he  calmly  set- 
tled himself  on  what  he  could  not  but  have  seen  was 
her  seat  or  Ruby's;  "  and  I'm  awfully  hungry,"  he 
went  on.  "  At  home  I  have  dinner,  at  least  if  I 
want  it,  I  do.  It's  only  fit  for  girls  to  have  tea  in 
this  babyish  way." 

He  helped  himself  to  a  large  slice  of  cake  as  he 
spoke ;  and  not  content  with  this,  he  also  put  a  big 
piece  of  butter  on  his  plate.  Miss  Hortensia  glanced 
at  him,  and  was  evidently  just  going  to  speak,  but 
checked  herself.  It  was  Bertrand's  first  evening,  and 
she  was  a  very  hospitable  person.  But  when  Ber- 


BERTRAND.  79 

trand  proceeded  to  butter  his  cake  thickly,  Ruby, 
never  accustomed  to  control  her  tongue,  burst  out. 

"  That's  cake,  Bertram!,"  she  said.  "  People  don't 
butter  cake" 

"Don't  they  just?"  said  the  boy,  speaking  with 
his  mouth  full.  "  I  do,  I  know,  and  at  home  mother 
never  minds." 

"  Does  she  let  you  do  whatever  you  like  ?  "  asked 
Ruby. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bertrand ;  "  and  whether  she  did  or 
not  I'd  do  it  all  the  same." 

Then  he  broke  into  a  merry  laugh.  It  was  one 
of  the  few  attractive  things  about  him,  beside  his 
good  looks,  that  laugh  of  his.  It  made  him  seem  for 
the  time  a  hearty,  good-tempered  child,  and  gave  one 
the  feeling  that  he  did  not  really  mean  the  things  he 
said  and  did.  And  now  that  his  hunger  was  ap- 
peased, and  he  was  warm  and  comfortable,  he  became 
much  more  amiable.  Ruby  looked  at  him  with  ad- 
miration. 

"  I  wish  I  lived  with  your  mother,"  she  said,  "  how 
nice  it  must  be  to  do  always  just  what  one  likes  I " 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Mavis.  "I  think  it 
would  be  quite  miserable." 

" Quite  right,  Mavis,"  said  Miss  Hortensia.  "When 
I  was  a  child  I  remember  reading  a  story  of  a  little 
girl  who  for  a  great  treat  one  birthday  was  allowed  to 
do  just  what  she  wanted  all  day,  and  —  oh  dear  !  — 
how  unhappy  she  was  before  evening  came." 


80  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

Bertrancl  stared  at  her  with  his  big  eyes.  Some 
eyes  are  very  misleading ;  his  looked  now  and  then 
as  if  he  had  nothing  but  kind  and  beautiful  thoughts 
behind  them. 

"  What  a  fool  she  must  have  been,"  he  said 
roughly.  And  poor  Miss  Hortensia's  heart  sank. 

The  evening  was  not  a  long  one,  for  Bertrand  was 
tired  with  his  journey,  and  for  once  willing  to  do  as 
he  was  told,  by  going  to  bed  early.  A  room  near  his 
cousins'  had  been  preparing  for  him,  and  though  not 
quite  ready,  a  good  fire  made  it  look  very  cosy. 
They  all  went  upstairs  with  him  to  show  him  the 
way.  As  they  passed  the  great  baize  door  which 
divided  their  wing  from  the  rest  of  the  house,  Ber- 
trand pushed  it  open. 

"  What's  through  there  ?  "  he  asked,  in  his  usual 
unceremonious  way. 

"  Oh,  all  the  rest  of  the  castle,"  said  Ruby  impor- 
tantly. 

Bertrand  peered  through.  It  was  like  looking 
into  a  great  church  with  all  the  lights  out,  for  this 
door  opened  right  upon  the  gallery  running  round 
the  large  hall. 

u  What  a  ramshackle  old  cavern  !  "  said  Bertrand. 
A  blast  of  cold  air  rushed  in  through  the  doorway  as 
he  spoke  and  made  them  all  shiver. 

"Nonsense,  Bertrand,"  said  Miss  Hortensia,  more 
sharply  than  she  had  yet  spoken  to  him.  "It  is  a 
splendid  old  house." 


BERTRAND.  81 

"  You  should  see  the  staircases  up  to  the  turrets," 
said  Ruby.  "  They  are  as  high  as  —  as  I  don't  know 
what.  If  you  are  naughty  we  can  put  you  to  sleep 
in  the  west  turret-room,  and  they  say  it's  haunted." 

"/shouldn't  mind  that,"  laughed  Bertrand. 

"  Nor  should  I,"  said  Ruby  boastfully.  "  Mavis 
here  is  a  dreadful  coward.  And  —  oh,  Bertrand  — 
I'll  tell  you  something  to-morrow.  I  have  such  an 
idea.  Don't  you  love  playing  tricks  on  people  — 
people  who  set  themselves  up,  you  know,  and  preach 
at  you  ?  " 

Her 'last  words  were  almost  whispered,  and  Miss 
Hortensia,  who  had  gone  on  in  front  —  they  had 
closed  the  swing  door  by  this  time  —  did  not  hear 
them.  But  Mavis  caught  what  Ruby  said,  and  she 
waited  uneasily  for  Bertrand's  answer. 

"  Prigs,  you  mean,"  he  said.  "  I  hate  prigs.  Yes, 
indeed,  I'll  join  you  in  any  game  of  that  kind.  You 
should  have  seen  how  we  served  a  little  wretch  at 
school  who  tried  to  stop  us  teaching  a  puppy  to  swim 
—  such  a  joke  —  the  puppy  could  scarcely  walk, 
much  less  swim.  So  we  took  Master  Prig  and  made 
him  swim  instead.  It  was  winter,  and  he  caught  a 
jolly  cold,  and  had  to  leave  school," 

"  Did  he  get  better  ?  "  said  Mavis,  in  a  strange  voice. 

"  Don't  know,  I'm  sure.  I  should  think  not.  His 
mother  was  too  poor  to  pay  for  a  doctor,  they  said. 
He'd  no  business  to  be  at  school  with  gentlemen," 
said  Bertrand  brutally. 


82        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

Mavis  gasped.  Then  suddenly,  without  saying 
good-night  to  any  one,  she  rushed  down  the  passage 
to  the  room  she  shared  with  her  sister ;  and  there 
Ruby  found  her  a  few  minutes  later  on  her  knees 
and  all  in  the  dark. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  Cousin  Hortensia 
told  me  to  say  good-night  to  you  for  her.  It  wasn't 
very  civil  to  fly  off  like  that  the  first  night  Bertrand 
was  here.  I'm  sure  cousin  Hortensia  thought  so 
too,"  said  Ruby  carelessly.  "  My  goodness,  are  you 
crying?"  as  the  light  she  carried  fell  on  Mavis's  tear- 
stained  face. 

"  Cousin  Hortensia  didn't  hear"  said  Mavis.  "  Oh, 
Ruby,  I  can't  bear  it." 

"What?" 

"  That  wicked  boy.  Oh,  Ruby,  you  can't  say  you 
like  him?" 

"  I  think  he's  lots  of  fun  in  him,"  said  Ruby  won- 
deringly.  "  He's  only  a  boy ;  you  are  so  queer, 
Mavis."  But  catching  sight  again  of  her  sister's 
expression  she  suddenly  changed.  "  Poor  little 
Ma  vie,"  she  cried,  throwing  her  arms  round  her, 
"you're  such  a  goose.  You're  far  too  tender- 
hearted." 

Mavis  clung  to  her,  sobbing. 

"  Oh,  Ruby,  my  Ruby,"  she  said,  "  don't  speak 
like  that.  I  couldn't  bear  you  to  get  hard  and 
cruel." 

But  Ruby  was,  for  her,   wonderfully  gentle  and 


BERTRAND.  83 

kind,  and  at  last  the  two  little  sisters  kissed  each 
other,  promising  that  nothing  should  ever  come 
between  them. 

A  good  night's  rest  and  a  huge  breakfast  put 
Master  Bertrand  into  a  very  fairly  amiable  humour 
the  next  morning.  He  flatly  refused,  however,  to  do 
any  lessons,  though  it  was  intended  that  he  should ; 
and  Miss  Hortensia,  judging  it  best  to  make  a  virtue 
of  necessity,  told  him  he  should  have  his  time  to  him- 
self for  three  days,  after  which  he  must  join  the 
twins  in  the  school-room. 

"  For  these  three  days,"  she  said,  "  I  will  give 
Ruby  and  Mavis  a  half-holiday,  so  that  they  may  go 
about  with  you  and  show  you  everything.  But  if 
you  do  not  come  regularly  and  punctually  to  lessons 
after  that,  I  will  not  give  your  cousins  any  extra 
holidays  while  you  are  here." 

She  spoke  firmly,  and  Bertrand  looked  at  her  with 
surprise.  He  was  surprised  indeed  into  unusual 
meekness,  for  he  said  nothing  but  "  All  right." 

They  gave  him  some  directions  as  to  where  he 
would  be  most  likely  to  amuse  himself  and  with 
safety.  Indeed,  unless  one  were  determined  to  hurt 
oneself,  there  were  no  really  dangerous  places  about 
the  castle ;  in  spite  of  the  cliffs  and  the  sea,  Ruby 
and  Mavis  had  played  there  all  their  lives  without 
ever  getting  into  mischief. 

"  He  is  not  a  stupid  boy,"  said  Miss  Hortensia, 
after  giving  her  instructions  to  Bertrand,  "and  I 


8-4        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

have  no  doubt  he  can  take  care  of  himself  if  he 
likes." 

"I'm  sure  he  wouldn't  like  to  hurt  himself,"  said 
Ruby  with  a  little  contempt ;  "  he's  the  sort  of  boy 
that  would  hate  pain  or  being  ill." 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  nothing  of  that  kind  will 
happen  while  he  is  here,"  said  Miss  •  Hortensia. 
"But  I  can  only  do  my  best.  I  did  not  seek  the 
charge,  and  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  shut  him 
up  in  the  house." 

"  He'd  very  likely  try  to  get  out  of  the  window 
if  you  did,  cousin  Hortensia,"  said  Mavis  with  her 
gentle  little  laugh.  She  was  feeling  happy,  for  Ruby 
had  continued  kind  and  gentle  this  morning.  "And 
if  I  were  a  boy  I'm  not  sure  but  that  I  would  too,  if 
I  were  shut  up." 

"Well,  let  us  get  to  our  work,"  said  Miss  Hortensia 
with  a  resigned  little  sigh. 

Lessons  were  over ;  Ruby  and  Mavis  had  had  their 
usual  morning  run  along  the  terrace,  had  brushed 
their  hair  and  washed  their  hands,  and  were  standing 
up  while  Miss  Hortensia  said  grace  before  beginning 
dinner,  when  Bertrand  appeared. 

He  came  banging  in,  his  cap  on  his  head,  his 
boots  wet  and  dirty,  his  cheeks  flushed,  and  his 
eyes  bright  with  running  and  excitement.  He 
looked  very  pretty  notwithstanding  the  untidy  state 
he  was  in,  but  it  was  impossible  to  welcome  him 
cordially;  he  was  so  rude  and  careless,  leaving  the 


BERTRAND.  85 

door  wide  open,  and  bringing  in  a  strong  fishy  smell, 
the  reason  of  which  was  explained  when  he  flung 
down  a  great  mass  of  course  slimy  seaweed  he  had 
been  carrying. 

"  You  nasty,  dirty  boy,"  said  Ruby,  turning  up  her 
nose  and  sniffing. 

"  Really,  Bertrand,  my  dear,"  began  Miss  Hortensia, 
"  what  have  you  brought  that  wet  seaweed  here  for  ? 
It  cannot  stay  in  this  room." 

"  I'll  take  it  away,"  said  Mavis,  jumping  up. 

"What  harm  does  it  do?"  said  Bertrand,  sitting 
down  sideways  on  his  chair.  "  I  want  it.  I  say 
you're  not  to  go  pitching  it  away,  Mavis.  Well, 
when  am  I  to  have  something  to  eat?" 

"  Go  and  wash  your  hands  and  hang  up  your  coat 
and  come  and  sit  straight  at  the  table  and  then  I 
will  give  you  your  dinner,"  said  Miss  Hortensia 
drily. 

"  Why  can't  you  give  it  me  now  ?  "  said  Bertrand, 
with  the  ugly  scowl  on  his  face. 

"  Because  I  will  not,"  she  replied  decidedly. 

The  roast  meat  looked  very  tempting,  so  did  the 
tart  on  the  sideboard.  Bertrand  lounged  up  out  of 
his  seat,  and  in  a  few  minutes  lounged  back  again. 
Eating  generally  put  him  into  a  better  temper. 
When  he  had  got  through  one  plateful  and  was 
ready  for  another,  he  condescended  to  turn  to  his 
companions  with  a  more  sociable  air. 

"  I  met  a  fellow  down  there  —  on  the  shore,"  he 


86  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

said,  jerking  his  head  towards  where  he  supposed  the 
sea  to  be ;  "  only  a  common  chap,  but  he  seems  to 
know  the  place.  He  was  inclined  to  be  cheeky  at 
first,  but  of  course  I  soon  put  him  down.  I  told  him 
to  be  there  this  afternoon  again  ;  we  might  find  him 
useful,  now  he  knows  this  place." 

Ruby's  eyes  sparkled. 

"I'm  very  glad  you  did  put  him  down,"  she  said. 
"All  the  same—  "  then  she  hesitated. 

"  Do  you  know  who  he  is?  "  asked  Bertrand. 

"  He's  the  best  and  nicest  and  cleverest  boy  in  all 
the  world,"  said  little  Mavis. 

Bertrand  scowled  at  her  and  muttered  something 
of  which  "  a  dirty  fisher-boy,"  was  all  that  was  audi- 
ble. Miss  Hortensia's  presence  did  overawe  him  a 
little. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  can  be  no  question  of  any  of 
you  going  out  this  afternoon,"  she  said,  glancing  out 
of  the  window  as  she  spoke  ;  "it  is  clouding  over  — 
all  over.  You  must  make  up  your  minds  to  amuse 
yourselves  indoors.  You  can  show  Bertrand  over 
the  house  —  that  will  take  some  time." 

"May  we  go  up  into  the  turret-rooms  and  every- 
where ?  "  said  Ruby. 

"  Yes,  if  you  don't  stay  too  long.  It  is  not  very 
cold,  and  you  are  sure  to  keep  moving  about.  There 
—  now  comes  the  rain." 

Come  indeed  it  did,  a  regular  battle  of  wind  arid 
water;  one  of  the  sudden  storms  one  must  often 


BERTRAND.  87 

expect  on  the  coast.  But  after  the  first  outburst  the 
sky  grew  somewhat  lighter,  and  the  wind  went  down 
a  little,  the  rain  settling  into  a  steady,  heavy  pour 
that  threatened  to  last  several  hours.  For  reasons  of 
her  own,  Ruby  set  herself  to  coax  Bertrand  into  a 
good  humour,  and  she  so  far  succeeded  that  he  con- 
descended to  go  all  over  the  castle  with  them,  even 
now  and  then  expressing  what  was  meant  to  be 
admiration  and  approval. 

"  It  isn't  ramshackle,  anyway,"  said  Ruby.  "  It's 
one  of  the  strongest  built  places  far  or  near." 

"  If  I  were  a  man  and  a  soldier,  as  I  mean  to  be," 
said  Bertrand  boastfully,  "  I'd  like  to  cannonade  it. 
You'd  see  how  it'd  come  toppling  over." 

"  You  wouldn't  like  to  see  it,  I  should  think,"  said 
Mavis.  "It's  been  the  home  of  your  grandfathers 
just  as  much  as  of  ours.  Don't  you  know  your 
mother  is  our  father's  sister?  " 

Bertrand  stared  at  her. 

"  What  does  it  matter  about  old  rubbishing  grand- 
fathers and  stuff  like  that?"  he  said.  "  That  was 
what  that  fisher-fellow  began  saying  about  the  castle, 
as  if  it  was  any  business  of  his." 

"Yes  indeed,"  said  Ruby,  "he's  far  too  fond  of 
giving  his  opinion."  She  nodded  her  head  mysteri- 
ously. "  We'll  have  a  talk  about  him  afterwards, 
Bertrand."  ' 

"  Ruby,"  began  Mavis  in  distress  ;  but  Ruby  pushed 
her  aside. 


88        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

"  Mind  your  own  business,"  she  said,  more  rudely 
than  Mavis  had  ever  heard  her  speak. 

"  It's  all  Bertrand,"  said  Mavis  to  herself,  feeling 
ready  to  cry.  "  I'm  sure  they  are  going  to  plan  some 
very  naughty  unkind  thing." 

They  were  on  their  way  up  the  turret-stair  now ; 
the  west  turret.  They  had  already  explored  the 
other  side.  Suddenly  a  strange  feeling  came  over 
Mavis ;  she  had  not  been  in  this  part  of  the  castle 
since  the  adventure  in  the  grotto. 

"  She  said  she  comes  to  the  west  turret  still," 
thought  the  child ;  "  just  as  she  did  when  cousin 
Hortensia  was  a  little  girl.  I  wonder  if  she  only 
comes  in  the  night  ?  I  wonder  if  possibly  I  shall  see 
her  ever  up  here?  If  I  did,  I  think  I  would  ask  her 
to  stop  Bertrand  making  Ruby  naughty.  I  am  sure 
dear  Princess  Forget-me-not  could  make  anybody  do 
anything  she  liked." 

And  she  could  not  help  having  a  curious  feeling  of 
expecting  something,  when  Ruby,  who  was  in  front, 
threw  open  the  turret-room  door. 

"  This  is  the  haunted  room,  Bertrand,"  she  said, 
and  there  was  a  mocking  tone  in  her  voice.  "  At 
least  so  Mavis  and  cousin  Hortensia  believe.  Cousin 
Hortensia  can  tell  you  a  wonderful  story  of  a  night 
she  spent  here  if  you  care  to  hear  it." 

Bertrand  laughed  contemptuously. 

"I'd  like  to  see  a  ghost  uncommonly,"  he  said. 
"  It  would  take  a  good  lot  of  them  to  frighten  me" 


BERTRAND.  89 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  said  Ruby.  "  But  the  room 
looks  dingy  enough,  doesn't  it  ?  I  don't  think  I  ever 
saw  it  look  so  dingy  before." 

"  It  looks  as  if  it  was  full  of  smoke,"  said  Bertrand, 
sniffing  about ;  "  but  yet  I  don't  smell  smoke." 

There  was  something  strange.  Mavis  saw  it  too, 
and  much  more  clearly  than  did  the  others.  To  her 
the  room  seemed  filled  with  a  soft  blue  haze  ;  far 
from  appearing  "  dingy,"  as  Ruby  said,  she  thought 
the  vague  cloudiness  beautiful ;  and  as  she  looked,  it 
became  plain  to  her  that  the  haze  all  came  from  one 
corner,  where  it  almost  seemed  to  take  form,  to 
thicken  and  yet  to  lighten  ;  for  there  was  a  glow  and 
radiance  over  there  by  the  window  that  looked 
towards  the  setting  sun  that  did  not  come  from  any 
outside  gleam  or  brightness.  No  indeed.  For  the 
rain  was  pouring  down,  steadily  and  hopelessly,  with 
dull  pitiless  monotony  from  a  leaden  sky.  Scarcely 
could  you  picture  to  yourself  a  drearier  scene  than 
the  unbroken  gray  above,  and  unbroken  gray  be- 
neath, which  was  all  there  was  to  be  seen  from  the 
castle  that  afternoon.  Yet  in  Mavis's  eyes  there 
was  a  light,  a  reflection  of  something  beautiful  and 
sunshiny,  as  she  stood  there  gazing  across  the  room, 
with  an  unspoken  hope  in  her  heart. 

The  others  did  not  see  the  look  in  her  face,  or 
they  saw  it  wrong,  Ruby  especially,  strange  to  say. 

"  What  are  you  gaping  at,  Mavis  ? "  she  said. 
"  You  do  look  so  silly." 


90  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

Bertrand  stared  at  her  in  his  turn. 

"  She  looks  as  if  she  was  asleep,  or  dreaming,"  he 
said  curiously. 

Mavis  rubbed  her  eyes. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  brightly,  "  I'm  not." 

And  then  she  tried  to  be  very  kind  and  merry 
and  pleasant  to  the  others.  She  felt  as  if  "  some- 
body "  was  watching,  and  would  be  pleased.  And 
Bertrand  was  a  little  bit  gentler  and  softer  than  he 
had  yet  been,  almost  giving  Mavis  a  feeling  that  in 
some  faint  far-off  way  the  sweet  influence  was  over 
him  too. 

But  Ruby  was  very  contradictory.  She  ran  about 
making  fun  of  the  old  furniture  and  mocking  at  Miss 
Hortensia's  story  till  she  got  Bertrand  to  join  with 
her,  and  both  began  boasting  and  talking  very 
foolishly  —  worse  than  foolishly  indeed.  More  than 
once  Mavis  caught  words  and  hints  which  filled  her 
with  distress  aud  anxiety.  She  knew,  however,  that 
when  Ruby  was  in  this  kind  of  humour  it  was  less 
than  useless  to  say  anything,  now  above  all  that  she 
had  got  Bertrand  to  back  her  up. 

Suddenly  the  boy  gave  an  impatient  exclamation. 

"I  hate  this  cockloft,"  he  said.  "It's  so  stuffy 
and  choky,  and  that  smoke  or  mist  has  got  into 
my  eyes  and  makes  them  smart.  Come  along,  Ruby, 
do." 

"  It's  not  stuffy.  I  think  it's  dreadfully  cold,"  she 
replied.  "  But  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  stay  here. 


BEKTRAND.  91 

The  mist's  quite  gone — not  that  I  ever  saw  any 
really;  it  was  only  with  the  room  being  shut  up,  I 
suppose.  I'm  quite  ready  to  go  ;  let's  run  down  and 
get  a  good  warm  at  the  school-room  fire,  and  I'll  tell 
you  something  —  a  grand  secret,  Bertrand." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN   THE   TURRET-ROOM. 

"  The  wind  with  the  clouds  is  battling, 
Till  the  pine-trees  shriek  with  fear." 

PAN. 

THEY  ran  off,  leaving  Mavis  alone  in  the  turret- 
room.  Poor  Mavis!  all  her  happy  and  hopeful  feel- 
ings were  gone. 

"  It  is  no  use,"  she  said  to  herself ;  "  I  can't  stop 
Ruby.  Bertrand  will  just  make  her  as  naughty  as 
himself.  Oh,  hoiv  I  do  wish  he  had  never  come ! 
All  our  happiness  is  spoilt." 

And  feeling  very  sorry  for  herself,  and  for  every 
one  concerned  except  Bertrand,  towards  whom,  I 
fear,  her  feelings  were  more  of  anger  than  grief, 
Mavis  sat  down  on  one  of  the  capacious  old  chairs 
that  stood  beside  her  and  began  to  cry  quietly.  Sud- 
denly a  strange  sensation  came  over  her  —  through 
her,  rather.  She  drew  her  handkerchief  from  her 
eyes  and  looked  up  —  she  had  to  look  up  —  and  — 
yes,  there  it  was  again,  there  they  were  again.  The 
wonderful  unforgetable  blue  eyes,  so  searching,  so 
irresistible,  so  tender.  Sweet  and  perfectly  loving  as 
they  were,  it  was  yet  impossible  to  meet  them  with- 
out a  half-trembling  thrill,  And  the  first  thought 

92 


IN   THE   TURRET-ROOM.  93 

that  flashed  through  the  little  girl  was,  "  How  could 
I  bear  her  to  look  at  me  if  I  had  been  naughty?" 

"  Naughty  "  she  had  not  been,  but  —  she  felt  her 
cheeks  flush  —  look  down  she  could  not,  as  she  said 
to  herself  that  she  was  afraid  she  had  been  — 

The  word  was  taken  out  of  her  thoughts  and 
expressed  just  as  she  came  to  it. 

"  Silly,"  said  the  clear  soft  voice.  "  Silly  little 
Mavis.  What  is  it  all  about?  Is  everything  going 
wrong  at  the  first  trial  ?  " 

Then  as  Mavis  gazed,  the  silvery-blue  mist  grew 
firmer  and  less  vague,  and  gradually  the  lovely  form 
and  features  became  distinct. 

"  Oh  dear  princess,"  said  the  child,  "  I  am  so  glad 
you  have  come.  Yes,*I  dare  say  I  am  silly,  but  I 
am  so  unhappy  ;  "  and  she  poured  out  all  her  troubles. 
"  I  shall  not  be  unhappy  any  more,"  she  ended  up, 
"  now  I  know  you.  are  true.  I  had  almost  begun  to 
fancy  you  were  all  a  dream." 

Forget-me-not  smiled,  but  for  a  moment  or  two 
she  did  not  speak.  Then  she  said  — 

"  What  is  it  you  are  afraid  of  Ruby  doing  —  Ruby 
and  Bertrand?  " 

"  Playing  some  unkind  trick  on  Winfried,"  replied 
Mavis  eagerly ;  "  or  even  worse  —  for  Ruby  knows 
that  would  hurt  him  most  —  on  his  old  grandfather. 
It  would  be  so  horrid,  so  wicked,"  and  Mavis's  voice 
grew  tearful  again,  "  when  they  have  been  so  kind  to 
us.  Oh  dear  princess,  will  you  stop  them?  " 


94  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

Forget-me-not  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"  My  child,"  she  said,  "  do  they  not  know  it  would 
be  wrong  to  do  such  a  thing?" 

"  Yes,"  Mavis  replied,  "  of  course  they  do." 

"  Then  how  could  I  stop  them  ?  I  mean  to  say, 
what  would  be  the  good  of  stopping  them,  if  they 
know  already  it  is  wrong?"  said  the  princess. 

Mavis  looked  puzzled. 

"But  if — if  —  they  were  to  hurt  or  frighten  old 
Adam  or  Winfried?"  she  said. 

Forget-me-not  smiled  again. 

"  Ah  yes,"  she  said,  "  that  I  can  promise  you  shall 
not  be.  But  beyond  that,  if  it  is  in  their  hearts 
wilfully  to  do  what  they  know  to  be  wrong,  I  fear, 
little  Mavis,  I  fear  they  must  do  it,  and  perhaps  learn 
thereby.  When  people  know  — 

Mavis's  eyes  told  that  she  understood ;  she  looked 
very  grave,  but  still  somewhat  relieved. 

"  I  am  glad  you  won't  let  it  hurt  Winfried  or  his 
grandfather,"  she  said.  "  But  oh,  I  can't  bear  Ruby 
to  be  made  naughty  by  that  horrid  boy,"  and  she 
seemed  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  tears.  "  Dear 
princess,"  she  went  on,  "  couldn't  you  speak  to  her 
-  the  way  you  do  to  me  ?  You  make  me  feel  that  I 
would  —  I  would  do  anything  you  told  me." 

"  Dear  child,  Ruby  cannot  hear  me  yet ;  she  can- 
not see  me.  If  she  could,  she  would  feel  as  you. 
Be  patient,  Mavis.  Love  her  as  you  have  always 
done ;  that  will  not  be  difficult.  But  that  is  not  all. 
You  must  try  to  love  Bertrand  too." 


IN   THE   TURRET-ROOM.  95 

Mavis's  face  grew  very  long. 

" I  don't  think  I  can"  she  said  at  last. 

"But  you  must,  sooner  or  later,  and  it  may  as 
well  be  sooner.  I  will  tell  you  one  thing  —  a  secret, 
which  perhaps  will  make  it  easier  for  you.  I  mean 
to  make  him  love  me  before  I  have  done  with  him, 
though  he  may  begin  by  hating  me." 

The  little  girl  looked  very  grave. 

"  And  Ruby  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  should  care  most  for 
Ruby  to  love  you." 

Strange  to  say,  Forget-me-not's  eyes  looked  sadder 
than  when  she  had  been  talking  of  Bertrand. 

"  It  may  be  more  difficult,"  she  murmured,  so  low 
that  Mavis  hardly  caught  the  words. 

"  Oh  no,  dear  princess,"  she  said  eagerly,  "  Ruby 
isn't  anything  like  as  naughty  as  Bertrand.  You 
mustn't  fancy  that.  She's  just  —  just  —  she  doesn't 
think  —  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Forget-me-not ;  but  that  was  all, 
and  her  eyes  still  looked  sad. 

Then  she  glanced  round.  The  old  room  seemed 
like  a  background  to  her  lovely  figure,  it  was  like 
gazing  at  a  picture  in  a  dark  setting. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  sard,  "  and  when  I  go  you  will  be 
all  in  the  dark.  The  clouds  are  so  heavy  and  the 
day  is  getting  on.  Can  you  find  your  way  all  down 
the  stair  alone,  Mavis  ?  The  others  have  not  thought 
about  leaving  you  up  here  alone." 

"I  don't  think  I  mind,"  said  Mavis ;  but  her  voice 


96  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

was  a  little  tremulous,  for  the  corner  where  the 
door  was,  across  the  room  from  where  Forget-me-not 
stood,  loomed  dark  and  gloomy. 

The  princess  smiled. 

"  Yes  you  do,  dear.  Don't  tell  stories.  I  was 
only  trying  your  courage  a  tiny  bit.  Come  here, 
darling." 

Mavis  crept  nearer  her,  nearer  than  she  had  yet 
been. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  soiling  your  lovely  dress,"  she  said. 
"  My  pinafore's  rather  dirty  ;  we've  been  playing  all 
over  the  dusty  rooms,  you  see." 

Then  Forget-me-not  laughed.  Her  talking  was 
charming,  her  smile  was  bewitching,  her  grave  sad 
looks  were  like  solemn  music  —  what  words  have  we 
left  to  describe  her  laugh  ?  I  can  think  of  none.  I 
can  only  tell  you  that  it  made  little  Mavis  feel  as  if 
all  the  birds  in  the  trees,  all  the  flowers  in  the  fields, 
all  the  brooks  and  waterfalls,  all  the  happy  joyous 
things  in  the  world  had  suddenly  come  together  with 
a  shout  —  no,  shout  is  too  loud  and  rough,  — with  a 
warble  and  flutter  of  irrepressible  glee. 

"Oh,"  said  Mavis,  "how  beautiful  it  is  to  hear 
you,  princess,  and  how  — 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence.  In  another 
moment  she  felt  herself  lifted  up  —  up  in  the  air 
ever  so  far,  it  seemed,  and  then  cosily  deposited  most 
comfortably  on  Forget-me-not's  shoulder.  It  was 
years  and  years  since  Mavis  had  thought  herself 


IN    THE    TURRET-ROOM.  97 

small  enough  to  ride  even  on  her  father's  shoulder  — 
great,  strong,  tall  father  —  and  the  princess  who 
looked  so  slight  and  fairy-like,  how  could  she  be  so 
strong?  Yet  the  arms  that  had  lifted  her  were 
strong,  strong  and  firm  as  father's,  nay  stronger. 
And  the  hand  that  held  her  up  in  her  place  was  so 
secure  in  its  gentle  grasp  that  the  little  girl  felt  she 
could  not  fall,  and  that  is  a  very  pleasant  feeling,  I 
can  assure  you.  * 

"  Shut  your  eyes,  Mavis,"  said  Forget-me-not,  "  I 
am  quick  in  my  movements.     You  are  quite  firm  — 
there  now  —  I  have  thrown  my  scarf  over  you.     I  am 
going  to  take  you  rather  a  round-about  way,  I  warn 
you." 

A  soft  whirr  and  rush  —  where  were  they?  Out 
of  the  window  somehow  they  had  got,  for  Mavis  felt 
the  chilly  air  and  heard  the  swish  of  the  rain,  though 
strange  to  say  the  chill  seemed  only  a  pleasant  fresh- 
ness, and  the  raindrops  did  not  touch  her.  Then 
up,  up  —  dear,  dear,  where  were  they  off  to  ?  Had 
Forget-me-not  suddenly  turned  into  the  old  woman 
who  goes  up  to  brush  away  the  cobwebs  in  the  sky  ? 
Mavis  laughed  as  the  fancy  struck  her  ;  she  did  not 
care,  not  she,  the  higher  the  better,  the  faster  they 
flew  the  merrier  she  felt.  Till  at  last  there  came  a 
halt.  Forget-me-not  stopped  short  with  a  long 
breath. 

" Heigh-ho  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "I've  given  you  a  toss 
up,  haven't  I  ?  Look  out,  Mavis  ;  we've  come  ever 


98  THE   CHILDKEX   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

so  far,  — •  peep  out  and  you'll  see  the  stars  getting 
ready  to  bid  you  good-evening.  It's  quite  clear,  of 
course,  up  here  above  the  clouds." 

Mavis  opened  her  eyes  and  peeped  out  from  the 
folds  of  Forget-me-not's  scarf,  which,  light  as  it  was, 
had  yet  a  marvellous  warmth  about  it. 

Clear,  I  should  think  it  was  clear!  Never  had 
Mavis  pictured  to  herself  anything  so  beautiful  as 
that  evening  sky,  up  "  above  the  clouds,"  as  the 
princess  had  said.  I  have  never  seen  it,  so  I  cannot 
very  well  describe  it ;  indeed,  I  should  be  rather 
afraid  to  do  so  on  hearsay,  for  I  should  be  sure  to 
make  some  mistake,  and  to  name  the  wrong  planets 
and  constellations. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mavis,  "  how  nice  !  " 

It  was  rather  a  stupid  little  word  to  say,  but 
Forget-me-not  was  too  "  understanding  "  to  mind. 

"  Look  about  you  well  for  a  minute  or  two.  Who 
knows  when  you  may  have  such  a  chance  again  ? " 
and  for  a  little  there  was  silence.  Then  "  Shut  your 
eyes  again,  dear,  and  clasp  me  tight ;  little  girls  are 
apt  to  get  giddy  in  such  circumstances.  Yes,  that's 
right." 

"  The  stars  are  like  your  eyes,"  said  Mavis. 

Then  again  the  soft  rush ;  a  plunge  downwards 
this  time,  which  made  Mavis  need  no  second  bidding 
to  clasp  her  friend  closely.  There  came  over  her  a 
misty,  sleepy  feeling.  She  could  not  have  told 
exactly  when  they  stopped ;  she  only  felt  a  sort  of 


IN    THE   TURRET-ROOM.  99 

butterfly  kiss  on  her  eyes,  and  a  breath  that  sounded 
like  good-night,  and  then  —  she  was  standing  in  the 
school-room  by  the  fire  ;  the  lamp  was  lighted,  it 
looked  bright  and  cosy,  and  Mavis  had  never  felt 
happier  or  stronger  in  her  life. 

"  That  nice  fresh  air  has  brightened  me  up  so,"  she 
said  to  herself.  But  her  hands  were  rather  cold. 
She  went  close  up  to  the  fire  to  warm  them.  There 
was  no  one  in  the  room. 

"  I  wonder  where  Ruby  and  Bertrand  are,"  thought 
Mavis.  Just  then  she  heard  Miss  Hortensia's  voice. 

"  Poor  dear,"  she  was  saying.  "  Ruby,  how  could 
you  be  so  thoughtless?  I  must  get  lights  at  once 
and'  go  and  look  for  her." 

"  We've  called  and  called  up  the  stair,  but  she 
didn't  answer,"  said  Ruby  in  rather  an  ashamed  tone 
of  voice. 

"Called,"  repeated  Miss  Hortensia,  "why  didn't 
you  yo?" 

"  It  was  so  dark  when  we  remembered  about  her, 
and  —  " 

"  You  were  afraid,  I  suppose,"  said  her  cousin. 
"  Really ;  and  yet  you  would  leave  poor  Mavis  all 
alone  —  and  a  great  boy  like  you,  Bertrand." 

"  /  wasn't  afraid,  but  I  wasn't  going  to  bother  to  go 
up  all  that  way.  She  could  come  down  by  herself," 
said  Master  Bertrand  rudely. 

But  before  Miss  Hortensia  could  reply  again  Mavis 
ran  out. 


100  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE    CASTLE. 

"  Here  I  am,  dear  cousin,"  she  said.  "  I'm  all 
right."  And  indeed  she  did  look  all  right,  as  she 
stood  there  sideways  in  the  doorway,  the  light  from 
the  room  behind  her  falling  on  her  pretty  hair  and 
fair  face. 

"  The  dear  child,"  thought  Miss  Hortensia.  "  No 
one  could  say  Mavis  isn't  as  pretty  as  Ruby  now." 
And  aloud  she  exclaimed :  "  My  darling,  where  have 
you  been  ?  And  were  you  afraid  up  there  in  the  dark 
all  by  yourself? " 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  with  us  ? "  said  Ruby 
crossly.  "  It  was  all  your  own  fault." 

"I  didn't  mind,"  said  Mavis.  "I'm  only  sorry 
cousin  Hortensia  was  frightened.  I'm  all  right,  you 
see." 

"  I  was  frightened  about  you  too,"  grumbled  Ruby. 

"  I  wasn't,"  said  Bertrand  with  a  rough  laugh. 
"There's  nothing  to  frighten  one  up  in  that  cock- 
loft ;  dingy,  misty  place  that  it  is." 

"  Misty !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Hortensia  in  surprise, 
"  what  does  the  child  mean  ?  " 

"  Bertrand  will  say  the  turret  was  full  of  blue 
smoke,"  said  Ruby,  "  and  that  it  hurt  his  eyes." 

"  It  did,"  said  the  boy  ;  "  they're  smarting  still." 

Mavis  smiled.  Miss  Hortensia  seemed  perplexed, 
and  rather  anxious  to  change  the  subject. 

"  I  do  hope,"  she  said,  "  that  to-morrow  will  be  fine, 
so  that  Bertrand  and  you,  Ruby,  may  get  rid  of  some 
of  your  spirits  out-of-doors." 


IN    THE   TURRET-ROOM.  101 

"  I  hope  too  that  it  will  be  fine,"  said  Ruby  mean- 
ingly. "  Bertrand  and  I  have  planned  a  very  long 
walk.  You  needn't  come,"  she  went  on,  turning  to 
Mavis,  "  if  you  think  you'd  be  tired." 

"  I  don't  get  tired  quicker  than  you  do,"  said  Mavis 
quietly.  Her  heart  sank  within  her  at  Ruby's  tone ; 
for  though  she  was  glad  to  think  Forget-me-not  would 
prevent  any  harm  to  old  Adam  or  Winfried,  she  did 
not  like  to  think  of  Ruby's  heartlessness  and  folly. 
And  when  she  glanced  at  Bertrand  and  saw  the  half- 
scornful  smile  on  his  face,  it  was  all  she  could  do  to 
keep  back  her  tears. 

All  that  evening  the  rain  kept  pouring  down  in 
torrents,  and  the  wind  beat  on  the  window,  shaking 
even  the  heavy  frames,  like  a  giant  in  a  fury,  deter- 
mined to  make  his  way  in. 

"  What  a  storm,"  said  Miss  Hortensia  more  than 
once,  with  a  little  shiver.  "  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of 
the  poor  souls  at  sea." 

Bertrand  laughed. 

"  It  would  be  great  fun  to  see  a  shipwreck,  if  one 
was  safe  out  of  harm's  way.  I  wouldn't  mind  stay- 
ing up  in  that  musty  old  turret  a  whole  afternoon  to 
have  a  good  view." 

Even  Ruby  was  startled. 

"  Oh  Bertrand,"  she  said,  "  you  can't  know  what  a 
shipwreck  means  if  you  speak  like  that." 

"  I've  read  stories  of  them,"  said  the  boy,  "  so  I 
should  know." 


102       THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

There  was  a  very  slight  touch  of  something  in  his 
tone  which  made  Mavis  wonder  if  he  really  meant 
all  the  naughty  things  he  said.  She  glanced  up  at 
him  quickly. 

"  If  there  ever  were  a  shipwreck  here,"  she  said,  "  I 
know  who'd  help  and  who  wouldn't." 

Bertrand's  face  hardened  at  once. 

"  That's  meant  for  me,'  he  retorted ;  "  for  me  and 
that  precious  lout  of  a  friend  of  yours.  You  think 
him  so  grand  and  brave  !  Ah  well !  wait  a  bit  and 
see.  When  people  don't  know  their  proper  place  they 
must  be  taught  it." 

Mavis  drew  herself  up. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  u  we  will  wait  a  bit  and  see.  But 
it  won't  be  the  sort  of  seeing  you'll  like  perhaps." 

"  You've  no  business  to  speak  like  that,"  said 
Ruby.  "I  think  you're  quite  out  of  your  mind 
about  that  common  boy  and  his  grandfather  —  or 
else  —  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was  that,  they've 
bewitched  you,  somehow." 

She  dropped  her  voice  with  the  last  words,  for  she 
did  not  want  her  cousin  to  hear.  But  Miss  Hortensia, 
though  she  was  busily  counting  the  rows  of  her  knit- 
ting at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  noticed  the  tone  of 
the  children's  voices. 

"  Come,  come,  my  dears,"  she  said,  "  no  wrangling 
—  it  would  be  something  quite  new  here.  I  do  hope" 
she  added  to  herself,  "  that  it  will  be  fine  to-morrow ; 
it  is  so  much  better  for  children  when  they  can  get 
out." 


IN   THE   TURRET-ROOM.  103 

It  was  fine  "  to-morrow  "  ;  very  fine.  It  was  almost 
impossible  for  the  little  girls  to  believe  that  so  few 
hours  before  the  storm  spirits  had  been  indulging  in 
their  wild  games,  when  they  looked  out  of  their 
window  on  to  the  bright  clear  wintry  sky,  where 
scarcely  a  cloud  was  to  be  seen,  the  sun  smiling 
down  coldly  but  calmly ;  not  a  breath  of  wind  mov- 
ing the  great  fir-trees  on  the  south  side  of  the  castle. 
Yet  looking  a  little  closer  there  were  some  traces 
of  the  night's  work ;  the  ground  was  strewn  with 
branches,  and  the  last  of  the  leaves  had  found  their 
way  down  to  their  resting-place  on  old  Mother  Earth's 
brown  lap. 

In  spite  of  her  anxieties,  Mavis  could  not  help 
her  spirits  rising. 

44  What  a  nice  afternoon  Ruby  and  I  might  have 
had  with  Winfried,  if  only  Bertrand  hadn't  come," 
she  thought. 

Ruby  was  all  smiles  and  gaiety. 

"  Perhaps,"  Mavis  went  on  to  herself,  "  perhaps 
she's  really  going  to  be  nice  and  good.  And  if  we 
two  keep  together,  we  can  stop  Bertrand  being  very 
naughty." 

Miss  Hortensia  was  anxious  for  them  to  profit  by 
the  fine  day.  She  had  not  much  faith  in  the  clear 
thin  sunshine's  lasting,  she  said,  and  she  shortened 
the  lessons  so  that  dinner  might  be  very  early,  and 
the  afternoon  free. 

It  was  still  very  bright  and  fine  when  the  three 


104  THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

children  found  themselves  standing  at  the  entrance 
of  the  archway,  on  the  sea  side  of  the  castle. 

"  Which  way  shall  we  go  ?  "  said  Mavis. 

"  Oh,  down  to  the  shore,"  Ruby  replied.  "  We 
may,"  she  went  on,  with  a  very  slight  glance  in 
Bertrand's  direction,  and  a  tone  in  her  voice  which 
struck  Mavis  oddly,  though  she  scarcely  knew  why 
—  "  we  may  meet  Winfried." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bertrand  in  an  off-hand  way.  "I  told 
the  fellow  we  might  be  somewhere  about  if  it  was 
fine  to-day,  and  I  said  he  might  as  well  have  his  boat 
ready.  I  don't  mind  paying  him  for  the  use  of  it. 
I've  any  amount  of  pocket-money ; "  and  he  thrust 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  jingling  the  coins  which 
were  in  them. 

Mavis  thought  to  herself  that  she  had  never  dis- 
liked him  as  much  as  now.  But  she  said  nothing, 
and  they  all  three  walked  on.  The  pathway  soon 
became  steep  and  rugged,  as  I  have  told  you.  Ruby 
and  Mavis  were  accustomed  to  it,  and  Bertrand  was 
a  strong,  well-made  boy.  Still  none  of  them  were 
agile  and  nimble  as  the  fisher-lad. 

"  You  should  see  Winfried  running  down  here," 

O 

said  Ruby ;  "  he  goes  like  a  stag,  or  a  chamois, 
rather." 

She  glanced  at  Bertrand  as  she  spoke.  Notwith- 
standing her  alliance  with  him,  there  was  something 
in  Ruby's  nature  that  made  it  impossible  for  her  to 
resist  vexing  him  by  this  little  hit. 


IN   THE   TURRET-ROOM.  105 

The  black  look  came  over  the  boy's  face. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  he  muttered.  "  I'm 
not  going  to  —  " 

"  Rubbish,  Bertrand,"  interrupted  Ruby.  "I  never 
said  anything  about  you.  Winfried's  a  fisher-boy; 
it's  his  business  to  scramble  about." 

Then  she  went  close  up  to  her  cousin  and  whis- 
pered something  to  him,  which  seemed  to  smooth 
him  doAvn,  though  this  only  made  Mavis  more  anx- 
ious and  unhappy. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  NAUGHTY  PLAN. 

The  boatie  rows,  the  boatie  rows,  the  boatie  rows  f  u'  weel." 


THEY  were  nearly  at  the  cove,  when  they  caught 
sight  of  a  scarlet  cap  moving  up  and  down  among 
the  rocks. 

"There's  Winfried,"  cried  Mavis  joyfully.  She 
could  not  help  having  a  feeling  of  safety  when  the 
fisher-lad  was  with  them,  in  spite  of  her  fears  about 
the  mischief  the  other  two  w^ere  planning.  "  Win- 
fried,  Winfried,"  she  called,  "  here  we  are." 

He  glanced  up  with  his  bright  though  rather  mys- 
terious smile. 

"  I  knew  you'd  be  coming,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Of  course  you  did,"  said  Bertrand  in  his  rough, 
rude  way,  "  considering  I  told  you  to  meet  us  here. 
Have  you  got  that  boat  of  yours  ready?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Winfried,  and  he  pointed  towards  the 
cove.  There,  sure  enough,  was  the  little  boat,  bright 
and  dainty,  the  sun  shining  on  its  pretty  cushions 
and  on  the  white  glistening  oars. 

Bertrand  was  running  forward,  when  there  came  a 
sudden  exclamation  from  Ruby.  She  had  put  up 
her  hand  to  her  neck. 

106 


A   NAUGHTY   PLAN.  107 

"  Oh,  my  cross,"  she  cried,  "  my  little  silver  cross. 
I  forgot  to  fetch  it  from  the  turret-room.     I  left  it 
there  last  night,  and  I  meant  to  go  and  get  it  this 
morning.     And  I  daren't  go  on  the  sea  without  it  — 
Fd  be  drowned,  I  know  I  should  be." 

Mavis  looked  at  her. 

"  Ruby,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  think  you  could  have 
left  it  up  there.  You  had  no  reason  to  take  it  off  up 
there." 

"  Oh,  but  I  did,  I  did,"  said  Ruby.  "  I  have  a 
trick  of  taking  it  off;  the  cord  gets  entangled  in  my 
hair.  I  know  it's  there." 

"  I'll  fetch  it  you,"  said  Bertrand,  with  perfectly 
astounding  good-nature.  And  he  actually  set  off  up 
the  rocky  path.  Winfried  started  forward. 

"  I  will  go,"  he  said.  "  I  can  run  much  faster  than 
he,"  and  he  hastened  after  Bertrand. 

But  Bertrand  had  exerted  himself  unusually.  He 
was  already  some  way  up  before  Winfried  overtook 
him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  when  Winfried  explained  why  he 
had  come,  "  I  want  to  go.  But  you  may  as  well 
come  too.  I  want  to  carry  down  my  fishing-tackle  — 
I'd  forgotten  it.  You  haven't  got  any  in  the  boat,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Winfried,  "  it  would  keep  us  out  too 
long.  It's  too  cold  for  the  little  ladies,  and  we 
should  have  to  go  too  far  out  to  sea." 

"  I'll   bring  it  all   the  same,"  said   Bertrand  dog- 


108  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE    CASTLE. 

gedly  ;  "  so  mind  your  own  business."  But  as  Win- 
fried  walked  on  beside  him  without  speaking,  he 
added  more  civilly,  "  you  may  as  well  look  at  it  and 
tell  me  if  it's  the  right  kind.  It's  what  my  father 
gave  me." 

"I'm  pretty  sure  it's  not  right,"  said  Winfried. 
"  The  fishing  here  is  quite  different  to  anything 
you've  ever  seen.  And  anyway  we  cannot  keep 
your  cousins  waiting  while  we  look  at  it." 

They  were  at  the  arched  entrance  by  now. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Bertrand,  "  you  run  up  and 
look  for  the  cross.  No  need  for  two  of  us  to  tire 
our  legs.  I'll  wait  here." 

Winfried  entered  the  castle,  and  after  one  or  two 
wrong  turnings  found  himself  on  the  right  stair. 
He  knew  pretty  exactly  where  he  had  to  go,  for  he 
had  often  looked  up  at  the  west  turret  from  the  out- 
side. But  just  as  he  got  to  the  door  he  was  over- 
taken by  Bertrand,  who  had  naturally  come  straight 
up  without  any  wrong  turnings. 

"  What  a  time  you've  been,"  said  Bertrand,  push- 
ing in  before  him.  "Now,  let's  see  —  where  did 
Ruby  say  she'd  left  her  cross  ?  Oh  yes,  hanging  up 
there ;  she  must  have  stood  on  a  chair  to  reach  it." 
And  sure  enough,  on  a  nail  pretty  high  up  on  the 
wall  hung  the  little  ornament. 

Winfried  drew  forward  a  chair ;  in  another  minute 
he  had  reached  down  the  cross. 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  said,  turning  to  Bertrand.     But  — 


p.  1 08 


A   NAUGHTY    PLAN.  109 

he  spoke  to  the  air  !  Bertram!  was  gone.  Wmfried's 
face  flushed  ;  but  he  controlled  himself.  He  walked 
quietly  to  the  door  and  turned  the  handle.  It  did 
not  open.  It  was  locked  from  the  outside.  He  was 
a  prisoner ! 

"  I  knew  something  of  the  kind  would  come,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  What  will  they  do  now  ?  Poor 
little  Mavis !  I  must  trust  her  to  the  princess." 

But  he  could  not  help  a  feeling  of  bitter  anger. 
It  was  no  light  punishment  to  the  active,  energetic 
boy  to  have  to  spend  all  the  bright  afternoon  hours 
shut  up  here  like  an  old  owl  in  a  church  tower.  And 
he  knew  that  till  some  one  came  to  let  him  out,  a 
prisoner  he  verily  was.  For  he  might  have  shouted 
his  voice  hoarse,  no  one  down  below  could  have 
heard  him.  And  the  chance  of  any  one  in  the  castle 
coming  up  was  very  small. 

"What  will  gran  think?"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  And,  if  these  naughty  children  try  to  play  him 
any  trick.  I  know  Ruby  more  than  half  believes  all 
that  nonsense  about  his  being  a  wizard  and  about  the 
mermaids,  and  Bertrand  will  egg  her  on." 

He  went  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out, 
trying  to  keep  down  the  dreadful  restless  caged  feel- 
ing which  began  to  come  over  him. 

"  How  can  I  bear  it  ?  "  he  said.  "  If  I  had  tools 
now,  and  could  pick  the  lock ;  but  some  of  these  old 
locks  are  very  strong,  and  I  have  nothing.  If  only  I 
had  wings ;  "  and  he  gazed  again  out  of  the  window. 


110        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

When  he  turned  round,  though  it  was  quite  bright 
and  sunny  outside,  it  almost  seemed  as  if  the  evening 
haze  had  somehow  got  into  the  room  before  its  time. 
It  was  filled  with  a  thin  bluish  mist.  Winfried's 
eyes  brightened. 

"  My  princess ! "  he  exclaimed.     "  Are  you  there  ?" 

A  little  laugh  answered  him,  and  gradually  the 
mist  drew  together  and  into  shape,  and  Forget-me- 
not  stood  before  him. 

"My  boy,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  am  surprised  at  you. 
Why,  you  were  looking  quite  depressed  I  " 

Winfried  reddened. 

"  It  was  the  horrid  feeling  of  being  locked  up,"  he 
said.  "  I  never  felt  it  before,  and  —  it  seems  such  a 
shame,  such  a  mean  trick.  I  wouldn't  have  minded 
a  stand-up  fight  with  any  fellow,  but  — 

"  Of  course  you  wouldn't ;  but  you've  got  a  good 
bit  farther  than  that,  I  hope,  Winfried,"  she  said  with 
a  smile.  "And  besides,  Bertrand  is  much  smaller 
than  you.  And  it  had  to  be,  you  know.  I  have  ex- 
plained enough  to  you  —  you  and  little  Mavis  ;  —  it 
had  to  be." 

Winfried  started. 

"  That's  another  thing,"  he  said.  "  I  am  uneasy 
about  her.  What  will  they  do  ?  They  don't  under- 
stand the  boat,  you  know,  princess,  and  she  is  alone 
with  them." 

Forget-me-not  smiled  again. 

"  How   faithless    you    are   to-day,   Winfried,"    she 


A   NAUGHTY   PLAN.  Ill 

said.  "  Mavis  will  be  getting  before  you  if  you  don't 
take  care,  simple  and  ignorant  as  she  is.  Can't  you 
trust  her  to  me  ?  "  And  as  the  boy's  face  brightened, 
"  Come,"  she  said,  "  I  see  you  are  recovering  your 
usual  ground,  so  I  will  tell  you  how  I  am  going  to 
do.  But  first,  shut  your  eyes,  Winfried;  and  here, 
wrap  the  end  of  my  scarf  round  you.  You  might 
feel  giddy  still,  though  it's  not  the  first  time. 
Ready?  —  that's  right  —  there  now,  give  me  your 
hand  —  we're  up  on  the  window  ledge.  You  were 
wishing  for  wings  —  isn't  this  as  good  as  wings  ?  " 
*  *  *  ***** 

Bertrand  rushed  down  —  as  much  as  he  could  rush, 
that  is  to  say,  over  the  steep  and  rough  path — to  the 
shore  where  the  sisters  were  waiting. 

"  Have  you  got  it?  "  asked  Mavis  eagerly. 

"  What  ?"  asked  Bertrand,  out  of  breath. 

"What?  Why,  Ruby's  cross,  of  course,  that  you 
went  for.  And  where  is  Winfried?" 

"  All  right,"  said  Bertrand,  in  a  curious  voice ; 
"he's  coming  directly.  We're  to  get  into  the  boat 
and  go  on  a  little  way,  keeping  near  the  shore.  He's 
coming  down  another  way." 

(Yes,  Bertrand,  that  he  is  ! ) 

Mavis  looked  up  anxiously. 

"  And  the  cross?  "  she  said. 

"  Winfried's  got  it,"  he  said.  Which  was  true. 
Then  he  turned  away,  the  fact  being  that  he  was  so 
choking  with  laughter  that  he  was  afraid  of  betraying 
himself. 


112  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

u  Ruby,"  he  called,  u  come  and  help  me  to  drag  the 
boat  a  little  nearer  ; "  and  as  Ruby  came  close  he 
whispered  to  her,  "  I've  done  it  —  splendidly — he's 
shut  up  in  his  tower  !  Locked  in,  and  the  locks  are 
good  strong  ones  —  now  we  can  have  a  jolly  good 
spree  without  that  prig  of  a  fellow  Only  don't  let 
Mavis  know  till  we're  safe  out  in  the  boat." 

Ruby  jumped  with  pleasure. 

"  What  fun  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  How  capital ! 
You  have  been  clever.  Bertrand.  But  take  care,  or 
Mavis  will  suspect  something.  Quick,  Mavis,"  she 
went  on,  turning  to  her  sister,  "  help  us  to  pull  in  the 
boat.  There,  we  can  jump  in  now,  Bertrand.  You 
and  Mavis  steady  it  while  I  spring ;  "  and  in  another 
moment  she  was  in  the  boat,  where  her  sister  and 
Bertrand  soon  followed  her. 

All  seemed  well :  the  sky  was  clear  and  bright, 
the  sun  still  shining.  The  faces  of  two  of  the  party 
were  sparkling  with  glee  and  triumph.  But  Mavis 
looked  frightened  and  dissatisfied. 

"  I  wish  Winfried  had  come  back  with  you, 
Bertrand,"  she  said.  "  Why  didn't  he  ?  Did  cousin 
Hortensia  keep  him  for  anything  ?  " 

"  Goodness,  no,"  said  Bertrand.  "What  a  fuss  you 
make,  child !  He's  all  right ;  you  can  look  out  for 
him,  and  tell  me  if  you  see  him  coming.  I  shall 
have  enough  to  do  with  rowing  you  two." 

"  Winfried  doesn't  find  the  boat  hard  to  row,"  said 
Mavis ;  "  it's  your  own  fault  if  it  is  hard.  You  might 


A    NAUGHTY    PLAN.  113 

as  well  wait  for  him  ;  he'd  see  us  as  he  comes  clown 
the  cliffs." 

"Oh  no,  that  would  be  nonsense,"  said  Ruby 
hastily  ;  "  besides,  he's  not  coming  that  way.  You 
heard  Bertrand  say  so.  I  could  row  too,  Bertrand," 
she  went  on. 

But  the  boy  had  already  got  his  oars  in  motion, 
and  though  he  was  neither  skilful  nor  experienced, 
strange  to  say  the  little  boat  glided  on  with  the 
utmost  ease  and  smoothness. 

"  There  now,"  said  Bertrand,  considerably  sur- 
prised, to  tell  the  truth,  at  his  own  success,  "  didn't  I 
tell  you  I  could  row  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mavis  bluntly,  "you  said  just  this 
moment  you'd  have  enough  to  do  to  manage  it." 

"Mavis,  why  are  you  so  cross?"  said  Ruby.  "Jt 
is  such  a  pity  to  spoil  everything." 

She  spoke  very  smoothly  and  almost  coaxingly, 
but  Mavis  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  Ruby 
grew  uncomfortable  and  turned  away.  But  just  then 
a  new  misgiving  struck  Mavis. 

"  Bertrand,"  she  cried,  "  either  you  can't  manage 
the  boat,  or  you're  doing  it  on  purpose.  You're  not 
keeping  near  the  shore  as  you  said  you  would.  You're 
going  right  out  to  sea ; "  and  she  jumped  up  as  if  she 
would  have  snatched  the  oars  from  him. 

"  Sit  down,  Mavis,"  said  Ruby.  "  I'm  sure  you 
know  you  should  never  jump  about  in  a  boat.  It's 
all  right.  Don't  you  know  there's  —  there's  a  current 
hereabouts  ?  " 


114       THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

Current  or  no,  something  there  was,  besides  Ber- 
trand's  rowing,  that  was  rapidly  carrying  them  away 
farther  and  farther  from  the  shore.  Mavis  looked  at 
Bertrand,  not  sure  whether  he  could  help  himself  or 
not.  But  — 

"  Winfried  wouldn't  have  told  you  to  keep  near 
the  shore  if  you  couldn't,"  she  said;  "he  knows  all 
about  the  currents." 

Bertrand  turned  with  a  rude  laugh. 

"Does  he  indeed?"  he  said.  "It's  more  than  I 
do;  but  all  the  same  this  current,  or  whatever  it  is 
that  is  taking  us  out  so  fast,  has  come  just  at  the 
right  minute.  I  never  meant  to  keep  near  in,  there's 
no  fun  in  that.  We're  going  a  jolly  good  Avay  out, 
and  when  we're  tired  of  it  we'll  come  back  and  land 
close  to  the  old  wizard's  cottage.  Ruby  and  I  are 
going  to  play  him  a  trick ;  we  want  to  catch  him  with 
the  mermaids  Ruby  heard  singing  the  other  day.  If 
we  set  the  villagers  on  him,  they'll  soon  make  an  end 
of  him  and  his  precious  grandson." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ruby  spitefully  ;  "  and  a  good  riddance 
they'd  be.  That  Winfried  setting  himself  up  over 
us  all." 

Mavis  grew  pale. 

"  Ruby  ;  Bertrand,"  she  said,  "  you  cannot  mean  to 
be  so  wicked.  You  know  the  villagers  are  already 
set  against  old  Adam  rather,  even  though  he  has  been 
so  good  to  them,  and  if  you  stir  them  up  —  they 
might  kill  him  if  they  really  thought  he  was  a 
wizard." 


A   NAUGHTY    PLAN.  115 

"  We're  not  going  to  do  anything  till  we  know  for 
ourselves,"  said  Ruby.  "  We're  first  going  to  the 
cottage  really  to  find  out  if  it's  true.  You  know 
yourself,  Mavis,  we  did  hear  some  one  singing  and 
speaking  there  the  other  day  who  wasn't  to  be  seen 
when  we  got  there.  And  I  believe  it  was  a  mermaid, 
or  —  or  a  syren,  or  some  witchy  sort  of  creature." 

Mavis  was  silent.  She  had  her  own  thoughts 
about  the  voice  they  had  overheard,  thoughts  which 
she  could  not  share  with  the  others. 

"  Oh,  dear  Princess  Forget-me-not,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  why  don't  you  make  them  see  you,  and 
understand  how  naughty  they  are?" 

For  the  moment  she  had  forgotten  the  princess's 
promise  that  neither  Winfried  nor  his  grandfather 
should  suffer  any  harm,  and  she  felt  terribly  frightened 
and  unhappy. 

"  Where  is  Winfried?  "  she  said  at  last.  "  He  will 
see  us  going  out  to  sea  when  he  comes  down  to  the 
shore,  and  if  he  tells  cousin  Hortensia  she  can  easily 
get  some  of  the  fishermen  to  come  after  us.  They 
can  row  far  quicker  than  you." 

Bertrand  stopped  rowing  to  laugh  more  rudely 
than  before. 

"Can  they?"  he  said.  "I  doubt  it.  And  as  for 
Winfried  telling  —  why,  he  doesn't  know  ;  he's  locked 
in  safe  and  sound  in  the  west  turret !  He'll  be  quite 
comfortable  there  for  as  long  as  I  choose  to  leave 
him,  and  however  he  shouts  no  one  can  hear  him. 


116  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

Not  that  there's  much  fear  of  any  of  those  lumbering 
boats  overtaking  us  if  they  tried  —  why  — 

He  took  up  the  oars  again  as  he  spoke,  but  before 
he  began  to  row  he  half  started  and  glanced  round. 
No  wonder ;  the  boat  was  gliding  out  to  sea  without 
his  help,  quite  as  fast  as  when  he  was  rowing. 

"  How  —  how  it  drifts  !  "  he  said  in  a  rather  queer 
tone  of  voice.  "  Is  there  a  current  hereabouts,  Ruby?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Ruby.  "  Try  and  row  the 
other  way,  that'll  soon  show  you." 

But  it  was  all  very  well  to  speak  of  "  trying."  No 
efforts  of  Bertrand's  had  the  very  slightest  effect  on 
the  boat.  On  it  sped,  faster  and  faster,  as  if  laughing 
at  him,  dancing  along  the  water  as  if  it  were  alive 
and  enjoying  the  joke.  Bertrand  grew  angry,  then, 
by  degrees,  frightened. 

"  It  isn't  my  fault,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  pretend  to 
know  all  about  the  currents  and  tides  and  nonsense. 
You  shouldn't  have  let  me  come  out  here,  Ruby." 

Ruby  was  terrified,  but  angry  too. 

"  It  isn't  my  fault,"  she  said.  "  You  planned  it 
all ;  you  know  you  did.  And  if  we're  all  —  " 

"  Be  quiet,  Ruby,"  said  Mavis,  who  alone  of  the 
three  was  perfectly  calm  and  composed.  "  If  it  stops 
you  and  Bertrand  carrying  out  your  naughty  plan,  I 
am  very  glad  if  we  are  taken  out  to  sea." 

"  That's  too  bad  of  you,"  said  Ruby,  angry  in  spite 
of  her  terror.  "  I  believe  you'd  rather  we  were 
drowned  than  that  your  precious  Winfried  and  his 


A   NAUGHTY   PLAN.  117 

grandfather  should  get  what  they  deserve.  And  we 
are  going  to  be  drowned,  or  anyway  starved  to 
death.  We're  going  faster  and  faster.  Oh,  I  do 
believe  there  must  be  a  whirlpool  somewhere  near 
here,  and  that  we  are  going  to  be  sucked  into  it." 

She  began  to  sob  and  cry.  Bertrand,  to  do  him 
justice,  put  a  good  face  upon  it.  He  looked  pale 
but  determined. 

"  This  is  what  comes  of  having  to  do  with  people 
like  that,"  he  said  vindictively.  "  I  believe  he's 
bewitched  the  boat  to  spite  us.  I'll  have  another 
try,  however." 

But  it  was  all  no  use.  The  boat,  slight  and  fragile 
as  it  seemed,  resisted  his  efforts  as  if  it  were  a  living 
thing  opposing  him.  Crimson  with  heat  and  vexa- 
tion, the  boy  muttered  some  words,  which  it  was  to 
be  hoped  the  girls  did  not  catch,  and  flung  down  the 
oars  in  a  rage.  One  fell  inside,  the  other  was  just 
slipping  over  the  edge  when  Mavis  caught  it. 
Strange  to  say,  no  sooner  was  it  in  her  hold  than  the 
motion  stopped ;  the  boat  lay  still  and  passive  on  the 
water,  swaying  gently  as  if  waiting  for  orders. 

"  We've  got  out  of  the  current,"  exclaimed  Ruby. 
"Try,  Mavis,  can  you  turn  it?" 

It  hardly  seemed  to  need  trying.  The  boat  turned 
almost,  as  it  were,  of  itself,  and  in  another  moment 
they  were  quietly  moving  towards  the  shore.  Nor 
did  it  seem  to  make  any  difference  when  Bertrand 
took  the  oars  from  Mavis  and  resumed  his  rowing. 


118  THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

"  If  I  only  waited  another  moment,"  lie  said. 
"  We  got  out  of  the  current  just  as  you  caught  the 
oar,  Mavis." 

She  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  think  it  was  that,"  she 
said.  "  But  anyway  now  it  is  all  right  again,  and 
we  are  going  back,  you  and  Bertrand,  Ruby,  will  not 
think  of  playing  any  trick,  or  setting  the  villagers  on 
to  old  Adam." 

"  Why  not,  pray  ?  "  said  Bertrand.     "  And  —  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  has  made  any  difference,"  said 
Ruby  pertly.  "  Suppose  the.  horrid  things  had  be- 
witched the  boat,  is  that  any  reason  for  not  showing 
them  up  ?  You  think  it's  all  your  wonderful  clever- 
ness that  got  the  boat  round,  do  you,  Mavis  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  think  a  good  many  things  I'm 
not  going  to  tell  you,"  said  the  little  girl.  "  But 
one  thing  I  will  tell  you,  /will  not  leave  the  boat  or 
come  on  shore  unless  you  promise  me  to  give  up 
your  naughty  cruel  plan." 

She  spoke  so  firmly  that  Ruby  was  startled.  And 
indeed  her  own  words  seemed  to  surprise  Mavis 
herself.  It  was  as  if  some  one  were  whispering  to 
her  what  to  say.  But  on  Bertrand  they  made  no 
impression. 

"You  won't,  won't  you?"  he  said.  "  Ah,  well, 
we'll  see  to  that." 

They  were  close  to  the  shore  by  this  time.  The 
marvellous  boat  had  "  got  over  the  ground,"  I  was 


A  NAUGHTY   PLAN.  119 

going  to  say  —  I  mean  the  water  —  even  more  quickly 
than  when  going  out  to  sea.  And  in  another  minute, 
thanks  to  something  —  no  doubt  Bertrand  thought 
it  was  thanks  to  his  wonderful  skill  —  they  glided 
quietly  into  the  little  landing-place  where  Winfried 
had  brought  them  two  days  ago. 

Up  jumped  Ruby. 

"  That's  capital,"  she  said.  "  We  can  easily  make 
our  way  to  the  old  wizard's  cottage  from  here.  And 
before  we  peep  in  on  him  himself,  Bertrand,  we  may 
as  well  look  round  his  garden,  as  he  calls  it.  It  is 
the  queerest  place  you  ever  saw,  full  of  caves  and 
grottoes." 

Both  Bertrand  and  she  had  jumped  on  shore. 

"  Come  on,  Mavis,"  cried  they.  "  What  are  you 
so  slow  about?  " 

For  Mavis  sat  perfectly  still  in  her  place. 

"  I  am  not  coming  on  shore,"  she  said  quietly, 
"  not  unless  you  promise  to  give  up  whatever  mis- 
chief it  is  that  you  are  planning." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Bertrand.  "  You  just  shall 
come ;  tell  her  she  must,  Ruby,  you're  the  eldest." 

"  Come,  Mavis,"  said  Ruby.  "  You'd  better  come, 
for  everybody's  sake,  I  can  tell  you,"  she  added  mean- 
ingly. "  If  you're  there  you  can  look  after  your 
precious  old  wizard.  I  won't  promise  anything." 

"  No,"  Mavis  repeated.  "  I  will  not  come.  We 
have  no  right  to  go  forcing  ourselves  into  his  cottage. 
It  is  as  much  his  as  the  castle  is  ours,  and  you  know 


120  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

you  have  locked  up  Winfried  on  purpose  so  that  he 
can't  get  out.  No,  I  will  not  go  with  you." 

"  Then  stay,"  shouted  Bertrand,  "  and  take  the 
consequences." 

And  he  dragged  Ruby  back  from  the  boat. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

BEGINNINGS  ? 

"Very  •wrong,  very  wrong, 
Very  wrong  and  bad." 

CHILD  WORLD. 

"  LET'S  run  on  fast  a  little  way,"  said  Bertrand, 
"  to  make  her  think  we  won't  wait  for  her.  That 
will  frighten  her,  and  she  will  run  after  us,  you'll 
see.  Don't  look  round,  Ruby." 

In  his  heart  lie  really  did  not  believe  that  Mavis 
would  change  her  mind  or  run  after  them.  And  he 
did  not  care.  Indeed,  he  much  preferred  having 
Ruby  alone,  as  he  knew  he  could  far  more  easily 
persuade  her  by  herself  to  join  in  his  mischievous 
schemes.  But  he  felt  that  she  was  half-hearted 
about  leaving  her  sister,  and  so  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
trick  her  too. 

They  hurried  on  for  some  distance.  Then  Ruby, 
who  was  growing  both  tired  and  cross,  pulled  her 
hand  away  from  Bertrand. 

"  Stop,"  she  said.  "  I'm  quite  out  of  breath.  And 
I  want  to  see  if  Mavis  is  coming." 

Bertrand  had  to  give  in.  They  were  on  higher 
ground  than  the  shore,  and  could  see  it  clearly. 
There  lay  the  little  boat  as  they  had  left  it,  and 

121 


122        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

Mavis  sitting  in  it  calmly.  To  all  appearance  at 
least. 

"  She's  not  coming  —  not  a  bit  of  her,"  exclaimed 
Ruby  angrily.  "  I  don't  believe  you  thought  she 
would,  Bertrand." 

"  She  will  come,  you'll  see,"  said  the  boy,  "  and 
even  if  she  doesn't,  what  does  it  matter  ?  We'll  run 
on  and  spy  out  the  old  wizard  and  have  some  fun. 
Mavis  will  stay  there  safe  enough  till  we  get  back." 

"  I  thought  you  meant  to  go  home  by  the  village 
and  tell  the  people  about  old  Adam,  if  we  do  see 
anything  queer,"  said  Ruby. 

"  So  I  did,  but  if  you're  in  such  a  fidget  about 
Mavis  perhaps  we'd  better  go  home  as  we  came,  and 
not  say  anything  in  the  village  to-day.  I'd  like  to 
see  what  Master  Winfried  has  been  up  to  when  we 
get  back.  Perhaps  he'll  have  got  some  old  witch  to 
lend  him  a  broomstick,  and  we  shall  find  him  flown ; " 
and  Bertrand  laughed  scornfully. 

Ruby  laughed  too. 

"I  don't  think  that's  likely,"  she  said.  "But 
there's  no  telling.  I  do  wish  he  and  his  grandfather 
were  out  of  the  country  altogether.  There's  some- 
thing about  Winfried  that  makes  me  feel  furious. 
He  is  such  a  prig;  and  he's  even  got  cousin  Hor- 
tensia  to  think  him  a  piece  of  perfection." 

"  He  may  take  his  perfections  elsewhere,  and  he 
shall,  too,"  said  Bertrand.  And  the  fierceness  of  his 
tone  almost  startled  even  Ruby. 


BEGINNINGS?  123 

They  were  not  far  from  the  old  fisherman's  cottage 
by  this  time.  They  stopped  again  to  take  breath. 
Mavis  and  the  boat  were  not  visible  from  where  they 
stood,  for  the  path  went  in  and  out  among  the  rocks, 
and  just  here  some  large  projecting  boulders  hid  the 
shore  from  sight. 

Suddenly,  as  if  it  came  from  some  cave  beneath 
their  feet,  both  children  grew  conscious  of  a  faint 
sound  as  of  distant  music.  And  every  moment  it 
became  clearer  and  louder  even  though  muffled. 
Bertrand  and  Ruby  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Mermaids  !  "  both  exclaimed. 

"  They  always  sing,"  said  Bertrand. 

"  Yes,"  added  Ruby,  with  her  old  confusion  of 
ideas  about  syrens ;  "  and  they  make  people  go  after 
them  by  their  singing,  and  then  they  catch  them  and 
kill  them,  and  I'm  not  sure  but  what  they  eat  them. 
I  know  I've  read  something  about  bare  dry  bones 
being  found.  Shall  we  put  our  fingers  in  our  ears, 
Bertrand  ?  "  She  looked  quite  pale  with  fear. 

"Nonsense,"  said  the  boy.  "That's  only  sailors  at 
sea.  They  lure  them  in  among  the  rocks.  We're 
quite  safe  on  dry  land.  Besides,  I  don't  think  it's 
mermaids  that  do  that.  They're  miserable  crying 
creatures ;  but  I  don't  think  they  kill  people." 

The  subterraneous  music  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
Somehow  the  children  could  not  help  listening. 

"  Didn't  you  say  you  and  Mavis  heard  singing  the 
day  you  were  here  before  —  at  the  wizard's  cottage,  I 
mean  ?  "  said  Bertrand. 


124  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

"  N-no,  not  exactly  singing.  It  was  laughing,  and 
a  voice  calling  out  good-bye  in  a  singing  way,"  an- 
swered Ruby. 

As  if  in  response  to  her  words,  the  singing  sud- 
denly stopped,  and  from  below  their  feet  —  precisely 
below  it  seemed  —  came  the  sound  of  ringing,  silvery 
laughter,  clear  and  unmistakable. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Ruby,  "  come  away,  Bertrand.  I'm 
sure  it's  the  mermaids,  and  they  will  catch  us  and  kill 
us,  you'll  see." 

Her  boasted  courage  had  not  come  to  much.  And 
yet  there  was  nothing  very  alarming  in  the  pretty 
sounds  they  had  heard. 

"  And  what  if  it  is  the  mermaids  ?  "  said  Bertrand 
coolly.  "  We  came  out  to  catch  them,  didn't  we  ? 
It's  just  what  we  wanted.  Come  along,  Ruby.  How 
do  we  get  to  the  cottage  ?  There  seems  to  be  a  sort 
of  wall  in  front." 

"We  go  round  by  the  back,"  said  Ruby.  "It's 
there  there  are  the  queer  grottoes  and  little  caves. 
But  you  won't  go  far  into  them,  will  you,  Bertrand? 
For  I  am  not  at  all  sure  but  that  the  mermaids  come 
up  from  the  sea  through  these  caves  ;  you  see  they 
do  come  some  underground  way." 

Bertrand  gave  a  sort  of  grunt.  What  Ruby  said 
only  made  him  the  more  determined  to  explore  as 
far  as  he  possibly  could. 

They  entered  the  strange  little  garden  I  have 
already  described  without  further  adventure.  There 


BEGINNINGS?  125 

seemed  no  one  about,  no  sound  of  any  kind  broke  the 
almost  unnatural  stillness. 

"How  very  quiet  it  is,"  said  Ruby  with  a  little 
shiver.  "  And  there's  no  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
chimney  —  there  was  the  last  time,  for  there  was  a 
good  fire  in  the  kitchen  where  old  Adam  was." 

And  as  she  said  this  there  came  over  her  the 
remembrance  of  the  kind  old  man's  gentle  hospitality 
and  interest  in  them.  Why  had  she  taken  such  a 
hatred  to  Winfried  and  his  grandfather,  especially 
since  Bertrand's  arrival?  She  could  not  have  given 
any  real  reason. 

"  I  hope  he  isn't  very  ill  —  or  —  dead"  she  said, 
dropping  her  voice.  "  And  Winfried  locked  up  and 
not  able  to  get  to  him.  It  would  be  our  fault,  Ber- 
trand." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Bertrand  roughly,  with  his  usual 
scornful  contempt  of  any  softer  feelings.  "  He's 
fallen  asleep  over  his  pipe  and  glass  of  grog.  I  dare 
say  he  drinks  lots  of  grog — -those  fellows  always  do." 

"  I'm  sure  he  doesn't,"  contradicted  Ruby,  feeling 
angry  with  herself  as  well  as  Bertrand.  "  Let's  go 
to  the  window  and  peep  in  before  we  look  at  the 
caves." 

She  ran  round  to  the  front,  followed  by  her  cousin, 
taking  care  to  make  as  little  sound  as  possible.  She 
remembered  on  which  side  of  the  door  was  the 
kitchen,  and  softly  approached  what  she  knew  must 
be  its  window.  But  how  surprised  she  was  when 


126        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

she  looked  in  !  It  was  the  kitchen  ;  she  remembered 
the  shape  of  the  room ;  she  recognised  the  neat  little 
fireplace,  but  all  was  completely  deserted.  Every 
trace  of  furniture  had  disappeared;  old  Adam's  large 
chair  by  the  hearth  might  never  have  been  in  exist- 
ence, well  as  she  remembered  it.  Except  that  it  was 
clean  and  swept,  the  room  might  not  have  been  in- 
habited for  years. 

Ruby  turned  to  Bertrand,  who  was  staring  in  at 
another  window. 

"I  say,  Ruby,"  he  whispered,  uthe  room  over  here 
is  quite  — 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  So  is  the  kitchen.  They're 
gone,  Bertrand,  quite  gone,  and  we've  had  all  our 
trouble  for  nothing.  It's  too  bad." 

"They"  repeated  Bertrand,  "you  can't  say  they, 
when  you  know  that  Winfried  is  locked  up  in  the 
turret-room." 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Ruby  starting,  "  I  quite  forgot. 
He  must  have  hidden  his  grandfather  somewhere. 
And  yet  I  don't  see  how  they  could  have  managed 
it  so  quietly.  We  always  know  when  any  of  the 
village  people  are  moving  their  furniture  ;  they  send 
to  borrow  our  carts." 

"  Well,'  said  Bertrand,  "  there's  one  thing  certain. 
If  you  didn't  believe  it  before,  you  must  now;  I 
should  think  even  Mavis  would  —  the  old  fellow  is  a 
wizard,  and  so's  his  precious  grandson." 

"Shall  we  go  into  the  house?"  said  Ruby,  though 
she  looked  half  afraid  to  do  so. 


BEGINNINGS?  127 

"  Isn't  the  door  locked  ?  "  said  Bertrand,  trying  it 
as  he  spoke.  It  yielded  to  his  touch;  he  went  in, 
followed,  though  tremblingly,  by  Ruby. 

But  after  all  there  was  little  or  nothing  to  see ; 
the  three  rooms,  though  scrupulously  clean,  even  the 
windows  shining  bright  and  polished,  were  perfectly 
empty.  As  the  children  strolled  back  to  the  kitchen, 
annoyed  and  disappointed,  feeling,  to  tell  the  truth, 
rather  small,  something  caught  Ruby's  eye  in  one 
corner  of  the  room.  It  was  a  small  object,  gleaming 
bright  and  blue  on  the  white  stones  of  the  floor. 
She  ran  forward  and  picked  it  up,  it  was  a  tiny 
bunch  of  forget-me-nots  tied  with  a  scrap  of  ribbon ; 
the  same  large  brilliant  kind  of  forget-me-not  as 
those  which  she  and  Mavis  had  so  admired  on  their 
first  visit  to  the  now  deserted  cottage.  She  gave  a 
little  cry. 

"  Look,  Bertrand,"  she  said,  "  they  can't  have  been 
long  gone.  These  flowers  are  quite  fresh.  I  wonder 
where  they  came  from.  They  must  have  been  grow- 
ing in  a  pot  in  the  house,  for  there  are  none  in  the 
garden.  I  looked  as  we  came  through." 

Bertrand  glanced  at  the  flowers  carelessly. 

"  Wizards,"  he  began,  "  can  —  " 

But  his  sentence  was  never  finished.  For  as  he 
spoke  there  came  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  down  the 
wide  chimney,  so  loud  and  furious  that  it  was  as 
startling  as  a  clap  of  thunder.  Then  it  subsided 
again,  but  for  a  moment  or  two  a  long  low  wail 


128  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

sounded  overhead,  gradually  dying  away  in  the 
distance. 

"What  was  that?"  said  Bertrand.  While  the 
sounds  lasted  both  children  had  stood  perfectly  still. 

"  The  wind  of  course,"  said  Ruby.  She  was  more 
accustomed  than  her  cousin  to  the  unexpected  vaga- 
ries of  the  storm  spirits  so  near  the  sea,  still  even  she 
seemed  startled.  "  It's  often  like  that,"  she  was  be- 
ginning to  say,  but  she  hesitated.  "  It  was  very 
loud,"  she  added. 

"  There  must  be  rough  weather  coming,"  said 
Bertrand.  "We'd  better  go  home  by  the  road,  I 
think,  Ruby." 

" We"  exclaimed  Ruby  indignantly.  " Do  you 
mean  you  and  me,  Bertrand?  And  what  about 
Mavis?" 

"  She  can  come  on  shore,"  replied  the  boy  care- 
lessly. "She  knows  where  we  are.  It's  her  own 
fault.  Come  along,  there's  nothing  to  wait  for  in 
this  empty  old  hole.  I  want  you  to  show  me  the 
caves  outside." 

"  I'll  try  to  signal  to  Mavis  first,"  said  Ruby.  "  I'll 
tie  my  handkerchief  to  a  stick  and  wave  it  about. 
She  can  see  us  up  here  quite  well,  and  perhaps  when 
she  finds  we're  alone  she'll  come." 

They  left  the  cottage,  and  Ruby  got  out  her  hand- 
kerchief. But  it  was  small  use.  For  just  as  they 
stepped  on  to  the  rough  little  terrace  in  front  from 
whence  they  could  clearly  see  the  shore,  there  came 


' — BetfranJ—look-^wTiere  is 
— -Mavis  and  the  "boot";  can  you 
See  them  ?  >  7. 129 


BEGINNINGS  ?  129 

another  and  even  —  it  seemed  so  at  least  now  they 
were  standing  outside — -more  violent  blast.  It  was 
all  Ruby  could  do  to  keep  her  feet,  and  when  she 
recovered  from  the  giddying  effect  of  the  wind  she 
was  still  breathless  and  shaken.  And  that  the  hurri- 
cane was  gathering  strength  every  second  was  plain 
to  be  seen ;  the  waves  were  dashing  in  excitedly,  the 
sky  at  one  side  had  that  strange  lurid  purple  colour 
which  foretells  great  disturbance. 

But  it  was  not  these  things  only  which  made 
Ruby  turn  pale  and  shiver. 

"  Bertrand,"  she  gasped,  "  I  don't  know  if  there's 
something  the  matter  with  my  eyes,  I  can't  see 
clearly  —  Bertrand  —  look  —  where  is  Mavis  —  Mavis 
and  the  boat ;  can  you  see  them  ?  " 

Bertrand  shaded  his  brow  with  his  hand  and  gazed. 

"  Ton  my  soul,"  he  said,  "  it's  very  odd.  /  can't 
see  them.  And  there's  not  been  time  for  Mavis  to 
have  rowed  out  to  sea  or  even  to  have  drifted  out ; 
we  can  see  right  out  ever  so  far,  and  there's  no  boat ; 
not  a  sign  of  one." 

"  Can  —  can  she  have  landed  and  dragged  the  boat 
ashore  somehow?"  said  Ruby,  her  teeth  chattering 
with  cold  and  fear. 

"No,"  said  Bertrand,  "we'd  certainly  see  her  and 
the  boat  in  that  case." 

"Then,  where  is  she?"  cried  Ruby.  "Bertrand, 
you  must  care.  What  do  you  think  has  become  of 
her?" 


130  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

"  Can't  say,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  boy.  "  The  boat 
may  have  capsized :  the  sea's  awfully  rough  now." 

"Do  you  mean  that  Mavis  may  be  drowned  or 
drowning?"  screamed  Ruby.  She  had  to  scream, 
even  had  she  been  less  terribly  excited,  for  the  roar 
of  wind  was  on  them  again,  and  her  voice  was 
scarcely  audible. 

"I  don't  see  that  she  need  be  drowned,"  said 
Bertrand.  "  It's  shallow.  She  may  have  crept  on 
shore,  and  be  lying  somewhere  among  those  big 
stones ;  and  if  not,  can't  your  precious  wizard  friends 
look  after  her?  She's  fond  enough  of  them." 

He  was  partly  in  earnest ;  but  Ruby  took  it  all 
as  cruel  heartless  mocking.  She  turned  upon  him 
furiously. 

"You're  a  brutal  wicked  boy,"  she  screamed.  "I 
wish  you  were  drowned ;  I  wish  you  had  never  come 
near  us ;  I  wish  —  "  she  stopped,  choked  by  her  fury 
and  misery,  and  by  the  wind  which  came  tearing 
round  again. 

Bertrand  came  close  to  her. 

"  As  you're  so  busy  wishing,"  he  called  into  her 
ear,  "  you'd  better  wish  you  hadn't  done  what  you 
have  done  yourself.  It  was  all  you  who  started  the 
plan,  and  settled  how  we  were  to  trick  Winfried  into 
the  turret-room ;  you  know  you  did." 

"  And  did  I  plan  to  drown  Mavis,  my  own  darling 
little  sister  ? "  returned  Ruby  as  well  as  she  could 
speak  between  her  sobs  and  breathlessness.  "  Come 


BEGINNINGS  ?  131 

down  to  the  shore  with  me  this  moment  and  help  me 
to  look  for  her,  if  you're  not  altogether  a  cruel 
heartless  bully." 

"Not  I,"  said  Bertrand,  "we'd  probably  get 
drowned  ourselves.  Just  see  how  the  waves  come 
leaping  in  ;  they  look  as  if  they  were  alive.  I  believe 
it's  all  witches'  work  together.  I'm  not  going  to 
trust  myself  down  there.  Come  and  show  me  the 
grottoes  and  the  caves,  Ruby.  We  may  as  well 
shelter  in  them  till  the  wind  goes  down  a  bit.  We 
can't  do  Mavis  any  good ;  if  she's  on  the  shore  she 
can  take  care  of  herself,  and  if  she's  under  the  water 
we  can't  reach  her ; "  and  he  caught  hold  of  Ruby  to 
pull  her  along,  but  she  tore  herself  from  his  grasp 
with  a  wrench. 

"  You  wicked,  you  heartless,  brutal  boy,"  she  cried. 
"  I  don't  care  if  I  am  drowned ;  I  would  rather  be 
drowned  with  Mavis  than  stay  alive  with  you." 

And  almost  before  Bertrand  knew  what  she  was 
doing,  Ruby  was  rushing  through  the  little  garden  at 
the  back  of  the  cottage  on  her  way  to  descend  the 
rough  path  to  the  shore. 

He  stood  looking  after  her  coolly  for  a  moment 
or  two  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  tried  to 
whistle,  but  it  was  not  very  successful ;  the  wind 
had  the  best  of  it. 

"  I  don't  believe  Mavis  has  come  to  any  harm,"  he 
said  aloud,  though  speaking  to  himself,  and  almost  as 
if  trying  to  excuse  his  own  conduct.  "  Anyway,  I 


132  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

don't  see  that  it's  my  business  to  look  after  her,  it 
was  all  her  own  obstinacy." 

He  kicked  roughly  at  the  pebbles  at  his  feet,  and 
as  he  did  so,  his  glance  fell  on  a  tiny  speck  of  colour 
just  where  he  was  kicking.  It  was  one  of  the  blue 
flowers  Ruby  had  found  in  the  cottage.  Bertrand 
stooped  and  picked  it  up,  and,  strange  to  say,  he 
handled  it  gently.  But  as  he  looked  at  it  there  came 
again  to  him  the  queer  smarting  pain  in  his  eyes 
which  he  had  complained  of  in  the  turret-room,  and 
glancing  up  he  became  aware  that  the  wind  had 
suddenly  gone  down,  everything  had  become  almost 
unnaturally  still,  while  a  thin  bluish  haze  seemed 
gathering  closely  round  where  he  stood.  Bertrand 
rubbed  his  eyes. 

"  There  can't  be  smoke  here,"  he  said.  "  What  can 
be  the  matter  with  my  eyes  ? "  and  he  rubbed  them 
impatiently.  It  did  no  good. 

"No,  that  will  do  no  good,"  said  a  voice.  It 
seemed  quite  near  him. 

"  Look  up ;  "  and  in  spite  of  himself  the  boy  could 
not  help  looking  up. 

"0A,"  he  screamed;  "0A,  what  is  it?  what  is  it?" 

For  an  agony,  short  but  indescribable,  had  darted 
through  his  eyeballs,  piercing,  it  seemed  to  him,  to 
his  very  brain ;  and  Bertrand  was  not  in  some  ways 
a  cowardly  boy. 

There  was  silence,  perfect,  dead  silence,  and  gradu- 
ally the  intense  aching,  which  the  short  terrible  pain 


BEGINNINGS?  133 

had  left,  began  to  subside.  As  it  did  so,  and  Ber- 
trand  ventured  to  look  up  again,  he  saw  that  —  what 
he  had  seen,  he  could  not  describe  it  better  —  was 
gone,  the  haze  had  disappeared,  the  air  was  again 
clear,  but  far  from  still,  for  round  the  corner  of  the 
old  cottage  the  blast  now  came  rushing  and  tearing, 
as  if  infuriated  at  having  been  for  a  moment  obliged 
to  keep  back ;  and  with  it  now  came  the  rain,  such 
rain  as  the  inland-bred  boy  had  never  seen  before  — 
blinding,  drenching,  lashing  rain,  whose  drops  seemed 
to  cut  and  sting,  with  such  force  did  they  fall.  It 
added  to  his  confusion  and  bewilderment.  Like  a 
hunted  animal  he  turned  and  ran,  anywhere  to  get 
shelter ;  and  soon  he  found  himself  behind  the  house, 
and  then  the  thought  of  the  grottoes  the  little  girls 
had  told  him  of  returned  to  his  mind. 

"  I  won't  go  back  into  that  witches'  hole,"  he  said 
to  himself  as  he  glanced  back  at  the  house.  "I'll 
shelter  in  one  of  the  grottoes." 

As  he  thought  this  he  caught  sight  of  an  opening 
in  the  rockery  before  him.  It  was  the  entrance  to 
the  very  cave  where  Mavis  had  been  left  by  Ruby. 
Bertram!  ran  in ;  what  happened  to  him  there  you 
shall  hear  in  good  time. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  FORGET-ME-NOT   LAND." 

"  A  world  .   .  . 
Where  the  month  is  always  June." 

THREE  WORLDS. 

RUBY  meanwhile  was  running  or  rather  stumbling 
down  the  stones.  She  cried  and  sobbed  as  she  went ; 
her  pretty  face  had  never,  I  think,  looked  so  woebe- 
gone and  forlorn ;  for  it  was  new  to  her  to  be  really 
distressed  or  anxious  about  anything. 

"Mavis,  Mavis,"  she  called  out  every  now  and 
then,  "  are  you  there,  darling?  can't  you  answer?  "  as 
if,  even  had  the  wind  been  less  wildly  raging,  Mavis 
could  possibly  have  heard  her  so  far  off. 

And  before  long  Ruby  was  obliged  to  stop  for  a 
moment  to  gather  strength  and  breath.  The  wind 
seemed  to  increase  every  minute.  She  turned  her 
back  to  it  for  a  second ;  the  relief  was  immense  ;  and 
just  then  she  noticed  that  she  was  still  clutching  the 
little  bunch  of  flowers  she  had  picked  up.  They 
made  her  begin  to  cry  again. 

"  Mavis  loves  them  so,"  she  thought,  and  her  mem- 
ory went  back  to  the  happy  peaceful  afternoon  they 
had  spent  with  old  Adam  and  his  grandson.  How 

134 


"FORGET-ME-NOT    LAND."  135 

kind  they  were,  and  how  nice  the  cakes  were  that 
Winfriecl  had  made  for  them  himself  I 

"Oh,"  thought  Ruby,  "  I  wish  Bertrand  had  never 
come!  It's  all—  "  but  there  she  hesitated.  There 
had  been  truth  in  her  cousin's  mean  reproach,  that 
the  mischief  and  the  cruel  tricks  they  had  planned 
had  been  first  thought  of  by  her.  And  Ruby  knew, 
too,  in  her  heart,  that  she  had  not  been  gentle  or 
unselfish  or  kind  long  before  she  had  ever  seen 
Bertrand.  She  had  not  been  so  actively  naughty 
because  she  had  had  no  chance  of  being  so,  as  it 
were.  The  coming  together  of  the  two  selfish,  un- 
feeling natures  had  been  like  the  meeting  of  the  flint 
and  steel,  setting  loose  the  hidden  fire. 

And  besides  this,  for  Bertrand  there  might  have 
been  some  excuse ;  he  had  been  neglected  and  yet 
spoilt ;  he  had  never  known  what  it  was  truly  to 
love  any  one,  whereas  Ruby  had  lived  in  love  all  her 
life ;  and  this  was  her  return  for  it. 

"  I  have  killed  my  little  Mavis,"  she  sobbed. 
"  Yes,  it  has  been  all  me.  We  needn't  have  minded 
Bertrand  ;  he  couldn't  have  made  me  naughty  if  I 
hadn't  let  him.  Oh,  Mavis,  Mavis,  whatever  shall  I 
do?" 

Her  glance  fell  again  on  the  flowers  in  her  hand. 
They  were  not  the  least  withered  or  spoilt,  but  as 
fresh  as  if  just  newly  gathered.  They  seemed  to 
smile  up  at  her,  and  she  felt  somehow  comforted. 

"  Dear  little  flowers,"  she  said.     Seldom  in  her  life 


136  THE    CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

had  Ruby  spoken  so  tenderly.  She  started,  as  close 
beside  her  she  heard  a  faint  sigh. 

"  Ruby,"  said  a  voice,  "  can  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"Yes,'*  said  the  little  girl,  beginning  to  tremble. 

"  But  you  cannot  see  me  ?  and  yet  I  am  here,  close 
to  you,  as  I  have  often  been  before.  Try  Ruby,  try 
to  see  me." 

"  Are  —  are  you  a  mermaid,  or  a  —  that  other 
thing  ?  "  asked  the  child. 

There  came  a  little  laugh,  scarcely  a  laugh,  then 
the  sigh  again. 

"  If  you  could  see  me  you  would  know  how  foolish 
you  are,"  said  the  voice.  "  But  I  must  have  patience 
—  it  will  come — your  eyes  are  not  strong,  Ruby ; 
they  are  not  even  as  strong  as  Bertrand's." 

"  Yes,  they  are,"  said  Ruby  indignantly.  "  I've 
never  had  sore  eyes  in  my  life,  and  Bertrand's  have 
hurt  him  several  times  lately." 

"  I  know ;  so  much  the  better  for  him,"  was  the 
reply.  "  Well,  good-bye  for  the  present,  Ruby.  Go 
on  to  look  for  Mavis;  you  must  face  it  all — there, 
the  rain  is  coming  now.  Ah !  " 

And  with  this,  which  sounded  like  a  long  sigh,  the 
voice  seemed  to  waft  itself  away,  and  down  came  the 
rain.  The  same  swirl  which  had  been  too  much  for 
sturdy  Bertrand  was  upon  Ruby  now,  standing,  too, 
in  a  far  more  exposed  place,  with  no  shelter  near, 
and  the  rough  rocky  path  before  her.  She  did  not 
stand  long ;  she  turned  again  and  began  to  descend, 


"  FORGET-ME-NOT   LAND."  137 

stumbling,  slipping,  blinded  by  the  rain,  dashed  and 
knocked  about  by  the  wind. 

"  She  might  have  helped  me,  whoever  she  was  that 
spoke  to  me,"  sobbed  Ruby.  "  It  isn't  my  fault  if  I 
can't  see  creatures  like  that.  I'm  not  good  enough, 
I  suppose." 

As  she  said  these  last  words,  or  thought  them, 
rather,  a  queer  little  thrill  passed  through  her,  and 
something,  in  spite  of  herself,  make  her  look  up. 
Was  it  —  no,  it  could  not  be  —  she  had  suddenly 
thought  a  gleam  of  sunshine  and  blue  sky  had 
flashed  on  her  sight;  but  no,  the  storm  was  too 
furious.  "  Yet  still,  I  did,"  thought  Ruby,  "I  did  see 
something  bright  and  blue,  as  if  two  of  my  little 
flowers  had  got  up  there  and  were  looking  down  on 
me." 

She  glanced  at  her  hand ;  the  forget-me-nots  were 
gone! 

"  I  must  have  dropped  them,"  she  said.  "  Oh  dear, 
dear !  " 

And  yet  as  she  struggled  on  again  she  did  not  feel 
quite  so  miserable. 

Yet  it  was  terribly  hard  work,  and  every  moment 
her  anxiety  about  Mavis  increased ;  Ruby  had  never 
felt  so  much  in  all  her  life. 

"  Who  could  it  be  that  spoke  to  me  so  strangely  ?  " 
she  asked  herself  over  and  over  again.  "  And  what 
can  I  do  to  be  able  to  see  her?  I  wonder  if  Mavis 
has  seen  her,  I  wonder—  "  and  suddenly  there  came 


138       THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

into  her  mind  the  remembrance  of  Miss  Hortensia's 
long-ago  story  of  the  vision  in  the  west  turret. 

"  There  was  something  about  forget-me-nots  in  it," 
she  thought  dreamily.  "Could  it  have  been  true?" 

How  she  had  mocked  at  the  story  ! 

She  had  at  last  reached  the  shore  by  this  time. 
The  rain  still  fell  in  pitiless  torrents,  but  the  wind 
had  fallen  a  little,  and  down  here  she  seemed  rather 
less  exposed  than  on  the  face  of  the  cliffs.  Still 
Ruby  was  completely  drenched  through  ;  never  before 
had  she  had  any  conception  of  the  misery  to  which 
some  of  our  poor  fellow-creatures  are  exposed  to 
almost  every  day  of  their  lives.  And  yet,  her  fears 
for  Mavis  overmastered  all  her  other  sufferings ;  for 
the  first  time  Ruby  thought  of  another  more  than  of 
herself. 

"  Mavis,  dear  little  Mavis,  Mavis  darling,  where 
are  you  ?  "  she  sobbed  wildly,  her  teeth  chattering, 
while  terrible  shivers  shook  her  from  head  to  foot. 
"  Oh,  it  can't  be  that  she  is  under  those  dreadful, 
fierce,  leaping  waves.  They  look  as  if  they  were 
dancing  in  cruel  joy  over  something  they  had  got;" 
and  a  shudder  worse  than  those  caused  by  the  cold 
went  through  the  poor  child. 

"Mavis,"  she  called  out  at  last,  after  she  had 
peered  round  about  every  large  stone,  every  corner 
where  her  sister  could  possibly  have  tried  to  find 
shelter,  without  coming  upon  the  slightest  trace  of 
either  the  child  or  the  boat,  "  you  must  be  in  the  sea. 


"FORGET-ME-NOT    LAND.''  139 

I'll  go  after  you  ;  it  doesn't  matter  if  I  am  drowned 
if  you  are.  Perhaps — perhaps  the  mermaids  are 
keeping  you  safe ;  there  are  kind  ones  among  them 
it  says  in  the  fairy  stories." 

And  she  turned  resolutely  to  the  water.  It  was 
cold,  icily  cold  as  it  touched  first  her  feet,  then  her 
ankles,  then  crept  up  to  her  knees ;  it  seemed  to 
catch  her  breath  even  before  it  was  at  all  deep. 
Ruby  felt  her  powers  going  and  her  senses  failing. 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  find  Mavis  even  if  she  is 
under  the  sea,"  she  thought  to  herself,  just  as  a  huge 
wave  caught  her  in  its  rolling  clutch,  and  she  knew 
no  more. 

It  seemed  as  if  time  beyond  counting,  years,  cen- 
turies had  passed  when  Ruby  came  to  her  senses 
again,  enough  to  know  that  she  was  herself,  gradu- 
ally to  remember  that  once,  long  ago,  there  had  been 
a  little  girl  called  Ruby,  somewhere,  somehow,  and 
that  some  one  dear,  most  dear  to  her,  had  been  in 
awful  danger  from  which  she  had  tried  to  rescue  her. 
And  through  all  the  long  mist,  through  all  the  dream 
wanderings  of  her  spirit,  in  which  maybe  it  had 
been  learning  lessons,  the  fruit  of  which  remained, 
though  the  teachings  themselves  were  forgotten, — 
for  who  knows,  who  can  limit  what  we  do  learn  in 
these  mysterious  ways  ?  Ruby's  guardian  angel  must 
have  rejoiced  to  see  that  the  thought  of  her  sister, 
not  herself,  was  uppermost. 

"  Mavis,"   was    the    first    word    she    whispered ; 


140       THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

"  Mavis,  are  you  alive  ?  Are  you  not  drowned, 
darling?  But  it  was  such  a  very  long  time  ago. 
Perhaps  the  world  is  finished.  But  Mavis  —  I 
thought  Mavis  was  dead;  and,  oh  !  who  are  you?  "  she 
ended  with  a  thrill  which  seemed  to  make  her  quite 
alive  and  awake.  "  Are  you  the  fairy  in  the  turret? 
And  what  are  you  doing  to  my  eyes  ?  " 

She  sat  up  and  rubbed  them.  There  was  the 
strangest  feeling  in  them  —  not  pain  now  ;  indeed  it 
was,  though  strange,  a  beautiful  feeling.  They  felt 
drawn  upwards,  upwards  to  something  or  some  one, 
and  a  new  light  and  strength  seemed  to  fill  them, 
light  and  strength  and  colour  such  as  Ruby  had 
never  before  even  imagined.  And  the  some  one  — 
yes,  it  was  the  lovely  gracious  figure,  with  the  ex- 
quisite never-,  once  seen,  to-be-forgotten  eyes,  of 
Winfried's  princess.  Ruby  saw  her  at  last ! 

A  smile  overspread  the  sweet  face  ;  the  blue  eyes 
shone  with  gladness. 

"  How  often  I  have  hoped  for  this,"  she  murmured. 
"  No,  Ruby,  you  will  never  'know  how  often.  Dar- 
ling, shut  your  eyes,  you  must  not  strain  them  ;  shut 
your  eyes  and  think  of  Mavis,  and  trust  yourself 
to  me." 

Ruby  obeyed ;  she  had  not  even  looked  round  to 
see  where  she  was ;  she  only  felt  that  she  was  lying 
on  something  soft  and  warm  and  dry  ;  oh,  how  nice 
it  was  to  feel  dry  again.  For  now  the  distant,  long- 
ago  sensation  began  to  fade,  and  she  remembered 


141 

everything  clearly  as  if  it  had  happened,  say,  yesterday 
or  the  day  before  at  farthest.  The  naughty  mischief 
she  and  Bertrand  had  been  planning,  the  strange 
little  boat,  the  deserted  cottage,  the  hurricane,  and  the 
misery  about  Mavis,  the  plunge  in  search  of  her 
into  the  sea,  even  to  the  loss  of  the  forget-me-nots, 
which  had  been  her  only  comfort,  all  came  back  ; 
and  with  it  a  wonderful  delightful  feeling  of  hope 
and  peace  and  trust,  such  as  she  had  never  known 
before.  She  gave  herself  up  to  the  kind  strong  arms 
that  clasped  her  round.  "  She  will  take  me  to  Ma- 
vis," she  thought ;  "  and  oh,  I  will  try  never,  never 
to  be  selfish  and  unkind  and  naughty  again." 

Then, -still  wrapped  in  the  soft  warm  mantle  or  rug 
she  had  felt  herself  lying  upon,  she  was  lifted  up- 
wards, upwards  still,  she  knew  not  and  cared  not 
whither,  for  Ruby's  eyes  were  closed  and  she  was  fast 
asleep,  and  this  time  her  sleep  was  dreamless. 

"  Ruby,  my  own  little  Ruby,"  were  the  first  words 
she  heard.  They  awoke  her  as  nothing  else  would 
have  done. 

"  Mavis,"  she  whispered. 

Yes,  it  was  Mavis.  She  was  leaning  over  the 
couch  on  which  Ruby  lay.  Never  had  Ruby  seen 
her  so  bright  and  sweet  and  happy-looking. 

"  Mavis,"  Ruby  repeated.  "  And  you  weren't 
drowned,  darling  ?  At  least ;  "  and  as  she  raised  her- 
self a  little  she  looked  round  her  doubtfully,  "at 
least,  not  unless  this  is  heaven?  It  looks  like  it  — 


142  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

only,"  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  it  can't  be,  for  if  it  were,  / 
shouldn't  be  in  it." 

"  No,  darling,  it  isn't  heaven,  but  it's  a  beautiful 
place,  and  I  think  it  must  be  a  little  on  the  way 
there.  It's  one  of  the  homes  of  our  princess ;  she 
won't  tell  me  the  name,  but  I  call  it  Forget-me-not 
Land.  Isn't  that  a  good  name  ?  Look  all  about,  Rubys" 

They  were  in  a  little  arbour,  in  one  corner  of  what 
one  would  have  called  a  garden,  except  that  gardens 
are  usually  enclosed.  They  don't  stretch  as  far  as 
the  eyes  can  see,  which  was  the  case  here.  A  soft 
clear  yet  not  dazzling  or  glaring  light  was  over 
everything,  yet  there  was  no  sun  visible  in  the  sky. 
And  as  Ruby  gazed  and  gazed  she  began  to  feel  that 
there  were  differences  between  this  garden  and  any 
others  she  had  ever  seen.  One  of  these  Mavis 
pointed  out  to  her. 

"  Do  }^ou  see,  Ruby,"  she  said,  "  that  all  the  flow- 
ers in  this  garden  are  our  wild  flowers,  though  they 
are  such  beauties?"  She  stooped  to  gather  one  or 
two  blossoms  growing  close  beside  her  as  she  spoke. 
"  See,  here  are  the  same  kind  of  forget-me-nots  that 
were  at  the  old  cottage,  and  that  we  found  so 
strangely  on  the  castle  terrace.  And  here  are  vio- 
lets and  primroses  and  snowdrops,  all  the  spring 
flowers ;  and  the  summer  ones  too,  honeysuckle  and 
dog-roses  ;  and  even  the  tiny  common  ones,  butter- 
cups and  daisies,  and  celandine  and  pimpernel,  and 
eye-bright  and  shepherd's-purse,  and  —  and  —  " 


"FORGET-ME-NOT   LAND."  143 

"  But  you're  mixing  them  all  up  together,"  said 
Ruby.  "  They  don't  all  come  at  the  same  time  of 
year." 

"  Yes,  they  do  here"  said  Mavis.  "  That's  the 
wonder.  I  found  it  out  for  myself  almost  immedi- 
ately, and  the  princess  was  so  pleased  I  did.  I  think 
this  garden  is  a  sort  of  nursery  for  wild  flowers ;  you 
see  up  where  we  live  there  are  no  gardens  or  garden- 
ers for  them." 

"  Up !  "  said  Ruby,  "  are  we  down  below  the 
world  ?  Are  we  out  of  the  world  ?  " 

Mavis  smiled. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  It  may  be  up  or  it 
may  be  down.  It  doesn't  matter.  The  princess  says 
we  may  call  it  fairyland  if  we  like.  And  fancy, 
Ruby,  old  Adam  is  the  gardener  here." 

A  shadow  passed  over  Ruby's  face. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  dear.  He  knew  you  were 
coming,  and  he's  as  kind  as  kind.  We're  to  have 
supper  at  his  cottage  before  we  go  home." 

"  Oh,"  said  Ruby  disappointed,  "  then  we  are  to  go 
home?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  Mavis  explained,  "  it  wouldn't  do  for 
us  to  stay  always  here.  But  I  think  we  may  come 
back  again  sometimes.  Adam  has  been  often  here, 
ever  since  he  was  a  boy,  he  told  me.  And  now  he's 
going  to  stay  always,  till  it's  time  for  him  to  go 
somewhere  else,  he  says.  It  was  too  cold  and  rough 
for  him  up  by  the  sea  now  he  is  so  old." 


144  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE  CASTLE. 

"  And  —  about  Winfried  ?  "  asked  Ruby,  growing 
very  red. 

Mavis  laughed  joyously. 

"  Winfried,"  she  cried,  "  why,  he  was  here  already 
when  I  came  ;  the  boat  went  down,  down  with  me, 
Ruby,  when  the  great  waves  rolled  over  it  and  me. 
I  was  frightened,  just  for  a  minute,  and  then  it  was 
all  right,  and  the  princess  and  Winfried  lifted  me 
out." 

"  How  many  days  ago  was  it  ?  "  asked  Ruby. 

Mavis  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know  that  either ;  perhaps  it's  not  days  at 
all  here.  I've  never  thought  about  it.  But  cousin 
Hortensia  won't  be  frightened.  The  princess  told 
me  that.  Winfried  will  take  us  home.  He  can't 
stay  here  either ;  he's  got  work  to  do  somewhere, 
and  he  can  only  come  back  sometimes.  There,  Ruby 
—  look  —  there  he  comes  ;  do  you  see  him  coming 
up  that  little  hill  ?  He'll  be  here  in  a  few  min- 
utes." 


CHAPTER   XI. 

DOWN   THE   WELL. 

"  Blue-bells  the  news  are  spreading, 

King-a-ting,  ting,  ting,  ting  ! 
All  the  flowers  have  voices, 

Lovely  the  songs  that  they  sing ; 
How  the  blue-bell  rejoices, 

Ting-a-ring,  ting,  ting,  ting  !  " 

RUBY  shrank  back  a  little. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  Winfried,"  she  said,  "  after  all 
we  did.  And,  oh  Mavis,  I  must  be  in  such  a  mess  — 
my  clothes  were  all  soaked  in  the  sea." 

"  No,  they  weren't,"  said  Mavis,  laughing;  "at  least 
if  they  were  they've  come  right  again.  Stand  up, 
Ruby,  and  shake  yourself,  and  look  at  yourself. 
There  now,  did  you  ever  look  neater  or  nicer  in  your 
life?" 

Ruby  stood  up  and  looked  at  herself  as  Mavis 
advised  her. 

"  Is  this  my  own  frock  ?  "  she  said.  "  No,  it  can't 
be.  See,  Mavis,  it's  all  beautifully  embroidered  with 
forget-me-nots !  And  what  lovely  blue  ribbon  my 
hair  is  tied  with ;  and  my  hands  are  so  white  and 
clean —  Mavis,  did  the  princess  dress  me  while  I 
was  asleep?" 

145 


146        THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

Mavis  nodded  her  head  sagely. 

"  Something  like  it,"  she  said. 

"  And  oh,"  continued  Ruby,  "  your  frock  is  just 
the  same,  and  your  ribbons  and  all.  Hoiv  nice  you 
look,  Mavis  !  Is  the  princess  here  ?  I  should  so  like 
her  to  see  us." 

"  She's  not  here  to-day,"  said  Mavis.  "  She's  away 
somewhere  —  I'm  not  sure,"  she  added  in  a  lower 
voice,  "  but  that  it's  about  Bertrand." 

Ruby  gave  a  sort  of  shiver. 

"Oh  Mavis!"  she  said,  uhe  was  so  cruel  and  so 
heartless,  and  I  was  so  miserable.  I  do  hope  the 
princess  will  make  him  go  quite  away." 

"  Or  —  if  he  was  to  be  quite  changed,"  said  Mavis. 

"  No,  no.  I  don't  want  him.  I  only  want  you, 
my  darling  little  Mavis,  and  we  shall  be  so  happy  - 
much,  much  happier  than  we  have  ever  been.  Kiss 
me,  Mavis,  and  tell  me  you  quite  forgive  me,  and  if 
ever  I  am  naughty  or  horrid  again,  I  hope  the  prin- 
cess will  punish  me." 

"  She  won't  let  you  forget  her  anyway,"  said 
Mavis.  "  I  think  that  is  how  she  punishes." 

Ruby  looked  rather  puzzled ;  but  before  she  could 
ask  more  they  heard   Winfried's   whistle,   and  in   a 
moment  he  appeared.     His  face  was  all  one  smile  — 
all  Ruby's  fears  and  misgivings  faded  away  before  it. 

"  Grandfather  is  waiting  for  you,"  he  said.  "There 
are  some  cakes,  Miss  Ruby,  that  you  will  find  even 
better  than  those  others.  For  everything  is  better 
here,  you  see." 


DOWN   THE   WELL.  147 

"  How  lovely  it  must  all  be,"  said  Ruby,  with  a 
little  sigh.  "  Aren't  you  sorry,  Winfried,  that  you 
can't  stay  here  altogether  ?  Mavis  says  you  have  to 
go  away  to  work." 

"Of  course,"  said  Winfried  cheerily.  "It  would 
never  do,  young  as  I  am,  not  to  work.  And  we 
shouldn't  enjoy  this  half  as  much  if  we  had  it  always 
-  it's  the  rest  and  refreshment  after  common  life 
that  makes  half  the  happiness.  It's  different  for 
gran  —  he's  done  his  part,  none  better,  and  now  his 
work  should  be  light.  I'm  thankful  to  know  he's 
safe  here.  Now  we  had  better  go  —  down  that  little 
hill  is  the  way  to  his  cottage." 

Children,  you  have  perhaps  never  been  in  fairy- 
land, nor,  for  that  matter,  have  I  been  there  either. 
But  I  have  had  glimpses  of  it  a  good  many  times  in 
my  life,  and  so  I  hope  have  you.  And  these  glimpses, 
do  you  know,  become  more  frequent  and  are  less 
fleeting  as  one  grows  older.  I,  at  least,  find  it  so. 
Is  not  that  something  to  look  forward  to  ?  Though, 
after  all,  this  sweet  country  to  which  our  three  little 
friends,  thanks  to  the  beautiful  princess,  had  found 
their  way,  was  scarcely  the  dream  region  which  we 
think  of  as  fairyland;  it  was  better  described  by 
little  Mavis's  own  name  for  the  nameless  garden  — 
"  Forget-me-not  Land " ;  for  once  having  entered 
there,  no  one  can  lose  the  remembrance  of  it,  any 
more  than  once  having  looked  into  her  eyes  one  can 
forget  Princess  Forget-me-not  herself. 


148  THE    CHILDKEX   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

But  it  would  be  difficult  to  describe  this  magic 
land ;  I  must  leave  a  good  deal  of  it  to  that  kind  of 
fancy  which  comes  nearer  truth  than  clumsy  words. 
Though,  as  it  is  nice  to  be  told  all  that  can  be  told 
of  the  sweetest  and  most  beautiful  things,  I  will  try 
to  tell  you  a  little  of  what  Ruby  and  Mavis  saw. 

It  might  not  have  seemed  such  a  lovely  place  to 
everybody,  perhaps.  Time  had  been  even  when 
Ruby  herself  might  not  have  thought  it  so ;  for  this 
garden-land  was  not  a  gorgeous  place ;  it  was  just 
sweet  and  restful.  As  1  told  you,  all  the  flowers 
were  wild  flowers ;  but  that  gives  you  no  idea  of 
what  they  looked  like,  for  they  were  carefully  tended 
and  arranged,  growing  in  great  masses  together  in  a 
way  we  never  see,  except  sometimes  in  spring  when 
the  primroses  almost  hide  the  ground  where  they 
grow,  or  at  mid-summer  when  a  rich  luxuriance  of 
dog-roses  and  honeysuckle  makes  it  seem  as  if  they 
had  been  "  planted  on  purpose,"  as  children  say.  All 
along  the  grassy  paths  where  Winfried  led  them, 
every  step  made  the  little  girls  exclaim  in  new 
admiration. 

"  Oh  see,  Ruby,  there  is  a  whole  bank  of  '  ragged 
Robin.'  I  could  not  have  believed  it  would  look  so 
beautiful ;  and  there  —  look  at  those  masses  of  '  sweet 
Cicely,'  just  like  snowflakes.  And  in  our  fields  it 
is  such  a  poor  frightened  little  weed  of  a  flower  you 
scarcely  notice  it,"  said  Mavis. 

"  But  it's  lovely  if  you  look  into  it  closely,"  said 


a  rnomerjf  ,'  jaid  the 
a.n3  lisfen  -"hush-  there 


DOWN   THE   WELL.  149 

Winfried.  "  Some  of  the  very  tiniest  flowers  are 
really  the  most  beautiful." 

Then  they  came  in  sight  of  a  stretch  of  hair-bells 
—  white  and  blue- — the  kind  that  in  some  places  are 
called  "  blue-bells." 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  the  boy.  "  Stop  and  listen 
—  hush  —  there  now,  do  you  hear  them  ringing? 
That  is  a  sound  you  can  never  hear  in  —  anywhere 
but  here." 

They  listened  with  all  their  ears,  you  may  be  sure. 
Yes,  as  they  grew  accustomed  to  the  exceeding  still- 
ness, to  the  clear  thin  fineness  of  the  air,  they  heard 
the  softest,  sweetest  tinkle  you  can  imagine ;  a  per- 
fect fairy  bell-ringing,  and  the  longer  they  listened 
the  clearer  it  grew. 

"Oh,  how  wonderful !  "  said  Mavis. 

And  Ruby  added,  "  I  should  think  if  we  lived  long 
enough  in  this  country  we  should  end  by  hearing  the 
grass  growing." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Winfried. 

"But  don't  you  miss  the  sea  things?  "  Ruby  went 
on.  "  You  love  them  so,  Winfried,  and  somehow 
you  seem  to  belong  to  the  sea." 

"  So  I  do,"  the  boy  replied.  "  The  sea  is  my  life. 
Coming  here  is  only  a  rest  and  a  holiday." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Mavis,  "  I  wonder  if  there  is  a 
garden  country  for  the  sea  to  match  this  for  the  land. 
A  place  where  seaweeds  and  corals  and  all  the 
loveliest  sea  things  are  taken  care  of,  like  the  wild 
flowers  here  ?  " 


150  THE   CHILDREN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

"  You  may  be  sure  there  is,"  said  the  fisher-boy, 
smiling.  "  There  is  no  saying  what  the  princess 
won't  have  to  show  us,  and  where  she  won't  take  us 
now  she  has  us  in  hand.  Why,  only  to  look  into 
her  eyes,  you  can  see  it  —  they  seem  to  reach  to 
everywhere ;  everywhere  and  everything  beautiful 
seems  in  them." 

"  You  have  seen  farther  into  them  than  we  have," 
said  Mavis  thoughtfully.  "  But  still  I  think  I  can 
understand  what  you  mean." 

"  So  can  I,  a  very  little,"  said  Ruby.  "  But  —  they 
are  rather  frightening  too,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  They  must  be  at  first,"  said  Winfried. 

But  just  then,  a  little  way  off,  they  caught  sight 
of  old  Adam  coming  to  meet  them.  His  cottage  was 
close  by;  they  came  upon  it  suddenly,  for  it  stood 
half-hidden  under  the  shelter  of  the  hill  they  had 
been  descending.  Such  a  lovely  cottage  it  was  —  so 
simple,  yet  so  pretty ;  quite  clean,  with  a  cleanness 
you  never  see  out  of  fairyland  or  places  of  that  kind, 
with  flowers  of  all  kinds,  forget-me-nots  above  all, 
clustering  about  it  and  peeping  in  at  the  windows. 

Adam  welcomed  his  little  guests  as  kindly  as  if 
no  unkind  thought  of  him  had  ever  entered  Ruby's 
head ;  he  made  no  difference  between  her  and  Mavis, 
and  I  think  this  caused  Ruby  to  feel  more  sorry  than 
anything  could  have  done. 

If  they  had  been  happy  that  afternoon  in  the 
cottage  by  the  sea,  you  can  fancy  how  happy  they 


DOWN   THE    WELL.  151 

were  in  this  wonderful  new  fairy  home  of  the  good 
old  man's.  There  was  no  end  to  the  things  he  had 
to  show  them  and  teach  them,  mostly,  I  think,  about 
flowers ;  things  they  had  never  dreamt  of,  beauties 
of  form  and  colour  such  as  it  would  be  impossible  for 
me  to  describe.  And  each  time  they  came  to  see 
him  he  promised  to  show  and  teach  them  still  more. 
But  at  last  Winfried  said  they  must  be  going. 

"  I  promised  the  princess,"  he  said,  for  now  he 
spoke  of  her  quite  openly  to  the  children,  "that  I 
would  take  you  home  by  the  time  the  sun  sets  beside 
the  castle,  and  it  must  be  near  that  now." 

"  And  how  are  we  to  go  home  ?  "  asked  Ruby. 

"  The  boat  is  ready,"  Winfried  answered. 

"  But  where's  the  sea  for  it  to  sail  on  ?  "  whispered 
Ruby  to  Mavis.  She  had  not  the  courage  to  ask 
Winfried  any  more. 

"  W^ait  and  see,"  said  Mavis.  "  I  don't  know,  but 
it  is  sure  to  be  all  right." 

Then  they  bade  Adam  farewell,  promising  to  come 
to  visit  him  again  whenever  they  should  be  allowed 
to  do  so  —  and  rather  wondering  where  Winfried 
was  going  to  take  them,  they  set  off. 

There  was  some  reason  for  Ruby's  question,  for 
so  far  they  had  seen  no  water  at  all  in  Forget-me-not 
Land.  Everything  seemed  fresh  and  fragrant,  as  if 
there  was  no  dearth  of  moisture,  bat  there  was 
neither  lake,  nor  pond,  nor  running  brook.  Win- 
fried  mounted  the  hill  a  little  way,  then  turning 


152  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

sharply,  they  found  themselves  in  a  sort  of  small 
wooded  ravine  or  glen.  Steps  led  down  the  steep 
sides  to  the  bottom,  which  was  a  perfect  thicket  of 
ferns,  mostly  of  the  deep  green  delicate  kind,  which 
loves  darkness  and  water. 

Win  fried  stooped  and  lifted,  by  a  ring  fixed  into 
it,  a  heavy  stone. 

"  You  won't  be  frightened,"  he  said.  "  This  is  the 
way.  We  have  to  go  down  the  well.  I'll  go  first; 
you'll  find  it  quite  easy." 

It  scarcely  looked  so,  for  it  was  very  dark.  Win- 
fried  stepped  in  —  there  was  a  ladder  against  the  side 
—  and  soon  disappeared,  all  but  his  head,  then  Mavis, 
and  lastly,  trembling  a  little  it  must  be  confessed, 
Ruby.  As  soon  as  they  were  all  inside,  the  stone  lid 
shut  itself  down ;  but  instead,  as  one  might  have 
expected,  of  this  leaving  them  in  darkness,  a  clear 
almost  bright  light  shone  upwards  as  if  a  large  lamp 
had  been  lighted  at  the  foot  of  the  well,  and  without 
difficulty  the  children  made  their  way  down  the  ladder. 

"  That's  very  nice,"  said  Ruby.  "  I  was  so  afraid 
we  were  going  to  be  in  the  dark." 

"  Were  you,  dear  ?  "  said  a  voice  whose  sweet  tones 
were  not  strange  to  her.  "  No  fear  of  that  when  I 
have  to  do  with  things.  Jump,  that's  right;  here 
you  are,  and  you  too,  Mavis." 

The  princess  was  standing  in  the  boat,  for  the 
"well"  widened  out  at  one  side  into  a  little  stream 
large  enough  to  row  along. 


DOWN    THE   WELL.  153 

"  The  brook  takes  us  to  the  river,  and  the  river  to 
the  sea;  that  is  your  way  home,"  she  said.  "Win- 
fried  will  row,  and  you  two  shall  nestle  up  to  me." 

She  put  an  arm  round  each,  and  in  silence,  save 
for  the  gentle  drip  of  the  oars,  the  little  boat  made  its 
way.  It  was  a  still  evening,  not  yet  dark,  though 
growing  dusk,  and  though  they  were  back  in  the 
winter  world  by  now  the  children  felt  no  cold  —  who 
could  have  felt  cold  with  the  princess's  mantle  round 
them  ?  They  grew  sleepy,  too  sleepy  to  notice  how, 
as  she  had  said,  the  brook  turned  into  the  river,  and 
the  river  led  on  to  the  sea,  the  familiar  sea,  not  more 
than  a  mile  or  two  from  the  cove  below  the  castle. 

And  it  was  only  when  the  boat  grated  a  little  on 
the  pebbly  shore  that  both  Ruby  and  Mavis  started 
up  to  find  themselves  alone  with  Winfried.  The 
princess  had  left  them. 

"  I  will  go  up  to  the  door  with  you,"  said  the  boy. 
"  Miss  Hortensia  is  expecting  you.  See,  there  she  is 
standing  under  the  archway  with  a  lantern." 

"  My  darlings,"  said  their  cousin.  "  So  Winfried 
has  brought  you  safe  home." 

"And  I  must  hurry  back,"  said  the  fisher-lad. 
And  almost  before  they  could  thank  him  or  say  good- 
night, he  had  disappeared  again  in  the  fast-gathering 
gloom. 

It  seemed  to  the  children  as  Miss  Hortensia  kissed 
them  that  years  had  passed  since  they  had  seen  her 
or  their  home. 


154  THE   CHILDREN    OF    THE   CASTLE. 

"  Haven't  you  been  dreadfully  lonely  without  us 
all  this  time,  dear  cousin  ?  "  said  Mavis. 

"  No,  dears,  not  particularly  so.  It  is  a  little  later 
than  usual,  but  when  Winfried  ran  back  to  tell  me 
he  would  bring  you  safe  home,  he  said  it  might 
be  so." 

"  Was  it  only  this  afternoon  we  went  ?  "  said  Ruby 
wonderingly. 

Miss  Hortensia  looked  at  her  anxiously. 

"  My  dear,  are  you  very  tired  ?  You  seem  half 
asleep." 

"  I  am  rather  sleepy,"  said  Ruby.  "  Please  may 
we  go  to  bed  at  once." 

"  Certainly.  I  will  tell  Ulrica  to  take  your  supper 
upstairs.  I  do  hope  you  haven't  caught  cold.  We 
must  shut  the  door ; "  for  they  were  standing  all  this 
time  at  the  entrance  under  the  archway.  "  Bertrand 
is  behind  you,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  little  girls  looked  at  each  other. 

"  We  have  not  seen  him  for  ever  so  long,"  they 
replied. 

"  He  would  not  stay  with  me,"  said  Ruby. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  we  should  find  him  here,"  said 
Mavis. 

Miss  Hortensia  looked  more  annoyed  than  anxious. 

"  I  suppose  he  will  find  his  way  back  before  long," 
she  said.  "  Bad  pennies  always  turn  up.  But  he  is  a 
most  troublesome  boy.  I  wish  I  had  asked  Winfried 
what  to  do  —  " 


DOWN    THE    WELL.  155 

"  I  don't  think  lie  could  have  done  anything,"  said 
Mavis.  "But  —  I'm  sure  Bertrand  is  safe.  What's 
the  matter,  Ulrica  ?  " 

For  at  that  moment  —  they  were  on  their  way 
upstairs  by  this  time  —  the  young  maid-servant  came 
flying  to  me'et  them,  her  face  pale,  her  eyes  gleaming 
with  fear. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  am  glad  the  young  ladies  are 
safe  back.  Martin  has  seen  the  blue  light  in  the  west 
turret ;  he  was  coming  from  the  village  a  few  minutes 
ago,  and  something  made  him  look  up.  It  is  many 
and  many  a  year  since  it  has  been  seen,  not  since  the 
young  ladies  were  babies,  and  it  always  - 

"  Stop,  Ulrica,"  said  Miss  Hortensia  sharply.  "  It 
is  very  wrong  of  you  to  come  startling  us  in  that 
wild  way,  and  the  young  ladies  so  tired  as  you  see. 
Call  Bertha  and  Joseph.  You  take  the  children  to 
their  room,  and  see  that  they  are  warm  and  comfort- 
able. I  will  myself  go  up  to  the  west  turret  with 
the  others  and  put  a  stop  to  these  idle  tales." 

But  Ruby  and  Mavis  pressed  forward.  A  strange 
thought  had  struck  them  both. 

"  Oh  cousin,  let  us  go  too,"  they  said.  "  We  are 
not  a  bit  frightened." 

So  when  old  Joseph  and  Bertha  had  joined  them, 
the  whole  party  set  off  for  the  turret. 

As  they  got  near  to  the  top  of  the  stair,  a  slight 
sound  made  them  all  start. 

"  Hush ! "    said    Miss    Hortensia.     They   stood   in 


156  THE   CHILDREN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

perfect  silence.  It  came  again  —  a  murmur  of  faint 
sobs  and  weeping.  Ulrica  grew  whiter  and  whiter. 
"  I  told  you  so,"  she  began,  but  no  one  listened. 
They  all  pressed  on,  Miss  Hortensia  the  first. 

When  she  opened  the  door  it  was,  except  for  the 
lamp  she  held  in  her  hand,  upon  total  darkness. 
But  in  one  corner  was  heard  a  sort  of  convulsive 
breathing,  and  then  a  voice. 

"  Who's  there  ?  Who's  there  ?  Oh  the  pain,  the 
cruel  pain  ! " 

And  there  —  lying  on  the  same  little  couch-bed 
on  which  years  and  years  ago  Miss  Hortensia  had 
slept  and  dreamt  of  the  lovely  fairy  lady  —  was 
Bertrand  —  weeping  and  moaning,  utterly  broken 
down . 

But  he  turned  away  sullenly  from  Miss  Hortensia 
when  she  leant  over  him  in  concern  and  pity;  he 
would  not  look  at  Ruby  either,  and  it  was  not  till 
after  some  moments  had  passed  that  they  at  last 
heard  him  whisper. 

"  Mavis,  I  want  to  speak  to  Mavis.  Go  away 
everybody.  I  only  want  Mavis." 

They  all  looked  at  each  other  in  mute  astonish- 
ment. They  thought  he  was  wandering  in  his  mind. 
But  no,  he  kept  to  the  same  idea. 

"Mavis,"  he  repeated,  "come  here  and  give  me 
your  hand.  I  can't  see  you.  Oh  the  pain,  the  pain  !  " 

Then  Mavis  came  forward,  and  the  others  drew 
back  in  a  group  to  the  door. 


DOWN    THE    WELL.  157 

"  Try  and  find  out  what  it  is  ;  surely  it  is  not 
another  naughty  trick  that  he  is  playing,"  said  Miss 
Hortensia  anxiously. 

"No,  no.  I  am  sure  it  isn't.  Don't  be  afraid, 
dear  cousin,"  said  the  little  girl. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

OPENED    EYES. 

"  The  world  that  only  thy  spirit  knows 
Is  the  fairest  world  of  the  three." 

THREE  WORLDS. 

"  MAVIS,"  whispered  Bertram!,  when  he  was  sure 
the  others  were  out  of  earshot,  "  you  can  understand ; 
they  would  think  I  was  mad.  Listen  —  stoop  down 
—  it  is  she.  You  know  who  I  mean.  She  made  me 
see  her,  and  oh,  the  pain  is  too  awful.  It  isn't  only 
in  my  eyes,  it  goes  down  into  my  heart  somehow. 
What  shall  I  do?  Can't  you  make  her  come  to 
take  it  away  ?  I've  been  crying  and  crying  to  her, 
but  she  won't." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  that  you  must  bear  it,"  said  Mavis. 
"  Think  that  way,  and  see  if  that  makes  it  any 
better." 

The  boy  gasped,  but  did  not  speak.  After  a 
moment  or  two  he  went  on  again. 

"  I  was  in  the  caves  behind  the  cottage.  I  ran  in 
to  get  out  of  the  storm,  and  because  I  didn't  want  to 
go  looking  for  you.  I  thought  you  were  drowned, 
and  I  didn't  want  to  see  your  white  face,"  he 
shivered.  "  And  I  was  peeping  about  in  one  of  the 

158 


ORENED    EYES.  159 

caves  when  I  fell ;  I  don't  know  how  or  where.  I 
fell  down,  down,  ever  so  far.  I  thought  I  was  never 
going  to  stop,  and  then  my  breath  went  away,  and  I 
didn't  know  anything  till  I  found  myself  in  another 
cave,  all  knocked  about  and  bruised.  I'm  aching 
now  all  over,  but  I  don't  mind  that.  And  then, 
Mavis,  she  came  and  looked  at  me." 

"You  saw  her?"  said  Mavis. 

"  Yes  —  oh  Mavis,  she  made  my  eyes  go  up  to  hers. 
And  oh,  the  pain !  She  didn't  say  anything  except 
just  '  Bertrand.'  But  I  knew  all  she  meant,  better 
than  by  any  speaking.  And  she  was  kind;  she 
lifted  me  and  carried  me  up  here.  And  she  put 
something  on  my  leg;  that  was  where  I  was  most 
hurt,  I  think.  Then  she  sat  by  me  here,  and  she 
put  it  all  into  my  mind,  all  the  naughty  things  I'd 
ever  done.  Mavis,  I  didn't  know,  I  really  didn't, 
how  bad  I  was.  It  came  out  of  her  eyes  somehow, 
though  I  dared  not  look  again ;  and  when  she  went 
away,  even  though  I  think  she  kissed  me,  the  pain 
got  worse  and  worse.  Oh  Mavis,  will  it  ever  go? 
Will  my  eyes  ever  feel  the  same  again  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mavis,  "I  don't  think  they'll  ever  feel 
the  same,  for  they'll  feel  much,  much  better  than 
they  used  to.  The  pain  wrill  go,  though  it  may  come 
back  sometimes,  to  remind  you." 

"I  shan't  need  reminding,"  said  the  boy.  "I  can't 
ever  forget.  I'm  sure  of  that.  I  wish  I  could !  " 

"  No,  Bertrand,  I  don't  think  you  do  wish  that." 


160  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

He  gave  an  impatient  wriggle,  but  without 
speaking. 

"•  Oh  the  pain,"  he  cried  again  in  a  moment  or 
two,  u  and  it  did  seem  a  little  better." 

Miss  Hortensia  came  forward. 

"Mavis,  my  dear,  what  is  it?  Where  is  he  hurt? 
And  why  did  you  hide  yourself  up  here,  Bertrand, 
instead  of  coming  to  me  ?  " 

Bertrand  would  not  answer.  He  turned  his  face 
away  again. 

"  He's  had  a  fall,  cousin  Hortensia,"  said  Mavis. 
"  But  I  don't  think  it's  very  bad,  he  says  he's  only 
bruised  and  sore.  Bertrand,  do  you  think  you  can 
manage  to  get  down  to  your  own  room  ?  " 

"  If  you'll  come  at  one  side  and  Joseph  at  the 
other,  I'll  try,"  said  the  boy,  with  unusual  gracious- 
ness.  "  And  when  I'm  in  bed,  will  you  stay  beside 
me,  Mavis?  I  think  the  pain  isn't  so  bad  when 
you're  there,"  he  whispered,  so  that  no  one  else  could 
hear. 

Miss  Hortensia  was  quick-witted. 

"  I  will  order  a  fire  to  be  lighted  in  Bertrand's 
room,"  she  said ;  "  and  if  you  like,  Mavis,  you  may 
have  your  supper  there  beside  him." 

She  hurried  away,  calling  Ruby  to  go  with  her. 
It  was  a  sign  of  a  very  different  state  of  things  with 
Ruby  that  she  showed,  and  felt,  no  jealousy  at  Ber- 
trand's preference  for  her  sister. 

"  Poor  Bertrand,"  she  said  to  herself  softly,  u  per- 


OPENED    EYES.  161 

haps  I  made  him  naughtier  than  he  would  have 
been." 

The  boy  was  more  hurt  than  he  would  allow,  but 
he  put  great  constraint  on  himself,  and  limped  clown- 
stairs  with  scarcely  a  groan. 

"  It's  nothing  compared  to  the  other  pain,"  he  mur- 
mured. And  when  he  was  at  last  safely  deposited  in 
his  little  bed,  he  looked  so  white  and  pitiful  that  for 
the  first  time  Mavis  stooped  down  and  gave  him  a 
loving  kiss.  Bertrand  started. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Mavis. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  u  When  you  kissed 
me,  the  pain  got  worse  for  a  moment ;  it  gave  a  great 
stab,  but  now  it  seems  better.  If  you'll  kiss  me 
again,  Mavis,  the  last  thing  when  you  say  good- 
night, perhaps  I'll  be  able  to  go  to  sleep." 

She  stayed  beside  him  all  the  rest  of  the  evening. 
He  scarcely  spoke,  only  groaning  a  little  from  time 
to  time.  When  Miss  Hortensia  came  in  to  send 
Mavis  to  bed,  she  began  for  the  first  time  to  feel 
really  uneasy  about  the  boy. 

"  Mavis,"  she  said,  not  meaning  Bertrand  to  hear, 
"  if  he  isn't  better  to-morrow  morning,  we  must  send 
for  the  doctor." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  little  girl,  "  he  could  do  some- 
thing to  take  away  the  aching  —  poor  Bertrand  is 
aching  all  over  from  his  fall." 

"  I  don't  mind  that,"  said  the  boy  suddenly.  "  It 
isn't  that,  you  know  it  isn't,  Mavis,  and  I  won't  have 
the  doctor." 


162  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE    CASTLE. 

Ruby,  who  had  stolen  in  behind  her  cousin,  crept 
up  to  Mavis. 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  whispered,  "  do  you  think, 
Mavis,  that  he  has  seen  her,  and  that  that's  it?  " 

Mavis  did  not  answer. 

"  Bertrand,"  she  said,  "  we  are  going  to  bed  now ; 
do  you  mind  being  left  alone  for  the  night?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I'd  rather,  unless  it  was  you,  and 
you  can't  stay.  You'd  be  too  tired.  Listen,"  and  he 
drew  her  down  to  him,  '"  do  you  think  perhaps  she'll 
come  again  and  take  away  the  pain?  For  I  am  sorry 
now  —  I  am  sorry  —  and  I  didn't  know  how  bad  I 
was." 

"Poor  Bertrand,"  whispered  Mavis  pityingly. 
"Perhaps  she  will  come.  Anyway,  if  you  are 
patient  and  try  to  think  the  pain  has  to  be,  I  think 
it  will  get  better,  even  if  it  doesn't  go  away  alto- 
gether." 

And  again  she  kissed  him. 

"  Mavis,"  said  Ruby,  as  the  two  little  sisters  were 
lying  side  by  side  in  their  white  curtained  beds, 
"cousin  Hortensia  may  not  know  it,  and  nobody 
may  know  it,  but  /know  it,  and  it  is  that  years  have 
passed  since  we  went  to  bed  here  last  night." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mavis.  "  I  think  so  too.  There  are 
some  things  that  you  can't  count  time  for,  which  are 
really  far  more  than  any  time." 

"  All  my  hating  of  Bertrand  has  gone  away  now," 
continued  Ruby.  "  Only  I  don't  want  him  to  stay 


OPENED    EYES.  163 

here,  because  the  naughty  in  him  and  the  naughty  in 
me  might  get  together  again  like  it  did  before." 

"  Why  don't  you  think  of  the  good  in  him  and  the 
good  in  you  joining  to  make  you  both  better ;  and 
the  good  in  me  too  ?  I  suppose  it  isn't  conceited  to 
think  there  is  a  little  good  in  oneself,  at  least  there's 
trying  to  be  and  wanting  to  be,"  said  Mavis,  with  a 
little  sigh.  "  But  you're  so  much  quicker  and  clev- 
erer than  I  am,  Ruby,  I  wish  you  would  think  about 
helping  me  and  not  about  being  naughty.  And,  oh 
Ruby,  isn't  it  lovely  to  think  that  we  may  go  some- 
times to  Forget-me-not  Land?" 

"Let's  go  to  sleep  now  as  quick  as  we  can  and 
dream  of  it,"  said  Ruby. 

Bertrand  looked  still  very  white  and  ill  the  next 
day.  He  was  very  quiet  and  subdued,  and  even  gave 
in  to  Miss  Hortensia's  decision  that  the  doctor  must 
be  sent  for.  The  doctor  came  "  and  shook  his  head." 
The  boy  was  not  in  a  satisfactory  condition,  —  which 
they  knew  already  as  it  happened,  otherwise  the 
doctor  would  not  have  been  sent  for,  —  he  had  been 
shaken  by  the  fall,  and  it  was  possible  that  his  back 
had  been  injured.  There  was  not  much  comfort  in 
all  this,  certainly,  but  it  decided  one  thing,  that  he 
was  to  stay  where  he  was  for  the  present,  not  to 
attempt  to  get  up  or  to  move  about.  And,  strange 
to  say,  this  too  Bertrand  accepted  uncomplainingly. 

He  said  no  word  to  the  doctor  of  the  strange  pain 
he  had  confided  about  to  Mavis ;  and  though  his  eyes 


164  THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    CASTLE. 

seemed  sad  and  wearied,  they  had  a  new  look  in  them 
which  had  never  been  there  before.  Even  Miss  Hor- 
tensia  was  moved  by  it,  though  hitherto,  and  rightly, 
she  had  been  inclined  to  treat  Bertrand's  troubles  as 
well  deserved. 

"  Is  there  anything  we  can  do  for  you,  my  poor 
boy  ?  "  she  said  kindly. 

"  No,    thank    you,"    he    replied ;    "  except   to   let 
Mavis  come  to  stay  beside  me  sometimes  —  and  — 
he  hesitated,  "if  the  fisher-boy,  Winfried,  comes  to 
the  castle,  I'd  like  to  see  him." 

"  Certainly,"  Miss  Hortensia  answered.  "  But  I 
doubt  if  he  will  come  any  more.  I  hear  in  the 
village  that  his  grandfather  has  gone  away,  quite 
away,  to  a  milder  part  of  the  country.  I  can't 
understand  it,  it  seems  so  sudden." 

But  Winfried  did  come,  that  very  afternoon.  His 
new  home  was  not  so  very  far  away,  he  told  Miss 
Hortensia  with  a  smile.  "  Gran's  home,  that  is  to 
say,"  he  went  on.  "  But  I  myself  am  going  to  have 
a  different  kind  of  home  now.  I'm  going  to  sea  ; 
I've  always  wished  it,  and  gran  has  wished  it  for  me." 

"  But  won't  he  miss  you  terribly  ? "  asked  the 
lady. 

"  I'll  often  be  with  him,  and  he's  well  cared  for 
where  he  is,"  said  the  boy. 

And  then  Mavis  took  him  up  to  see  Bertrand, 
with  whom  she  left  him  alone  for  some  time. 

There  was  a  brighter  look  in  the  boy's  face  when 
she  went  back  to  him. 


OPENED    EYES.  165 

"  Winfried  lias  promised  to  come  again  before  he 
goes  quite  away,"  he  said.  "  Did  you  know,  Mavis, 
that  he  is  going  ever  so  far  away?  He  is  going  to 
be  a  sailor,  a  real  sailor,  not  a  fisherman.  He  says 
he  has  always  wanted  it,  but  he  couldn't  leave  his 
grandfather  alone  here  where  the  village  people  were 
not  —  '  Bertrand  stopped  suddenly,  as  it  struck  him 
that  it  was  not  the  ignorant  village  people  only  who 
had  been  unkind  to  good  old  Adam.  Mavis  under- 
stood but  said  nothing.  And  after  a  bit  Bertrand 
went  on  again. 

"Mavis,"  he  said,  "I've  seen  her  again.  Either  I 
saw  her  or  I  dreamt  of  her.  I  don't  much  mind 
which  it  was,  for  it's  all  come  true.  She  said  I  must 
try  to  bear  it,  like  what  you  said,  Mavis  ;  and  it  has 
got  better.  But  she  said  it  would  come  back  again, 
and  that  I'd  get  to  want  it  to  come  back  —  at  least, 
unless  I  wanted  to  forget  her,  and  I  don't  want  to  do 
that.  I  don't  think  I  could,  even  if  I  tried.  And 
she  kissed  me  —  my  eyes,  Mavis ;  so  you  see  I 
couldn't  forget  her  now." 

"  You  never  could,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mavis  ;  "  that's 
what  she  is  ;  it's  her  name." 

Bertrand  threw  himself  back  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  can't  feel  like  you,"  he  said.  "  I've  never 
thought  about  being  good,  and  sometimes  I  think  I 
won't  try.  Oh  Mavis  !  " 

"  Was  it  the  pain  again?"  said  the  little  girl 
sympathisingly,  though  in  her  heart  she  felt  inclined 
to  smile  a  very  little. 


166  THE   CHILDREN    OF   THE   CASTLE. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bertrand  dolefully,  "  I'm  afraid  it  will 
take  an  awfully  long  time  before  I  begin  to  get  the 
least  bit  good,"  and  he  sighed  again  still  more 
deeply. 

Just  then  Ruby  put  her  head  in  at  the  door.  She 
and  Bertrand  were  not  yet  quite  at  ease  with  each 
other,  but  she  came  up  to  his  bedside  very  gently 
and  said  she  hoped  he  was  better,  to  which  he  replied 
meekly  enough,  though  rather  stiffly. 

"  Mavis,"  said  Ruby  eagerly,  pleased  to  find  some- 
thing to  talk  about,  "  have  you  heard  about  Win- 
fried  ?  about  his  going  to  be  a  real  sailor  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mavis.  "  Bertrand  was  talking  about 
it." 

Bertrand  sat  up  and  his  eyes  sparkled. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  but  I  think 
I  must.  Do  you  know,  I  believe  I  shall  be  a  sailor 
too  ?  Papa  has  always  wanted  it  since  I  was  quite 
little,  and  I  shall  soon  be  old  enough  to  begin.  But 
I  thought  I  wouldn't  like  it  till  I  came  here  and  saw 
the  sea ;  and  now  Winfried's  talking  has  made  it 
come  into  my  mind,  just  the  way  papa  said  it  did 
into  his  when  he  was  a  boy." 

Ruby  glanced  at  him  admiringly. 

"  How  brave  you  are,  Bertrand  !  "  she  said,  which 
was  a  very  foolish  speech. 

"  No,"  he  said  with  a  touch  of  his  old  roughness, 
"  I'm  not.  It  isn't  that  at  all.  Mavis,  would  you  be 
glad  for  me  to  be  a  sailor  ?  " 


OPENED    EYES.  167 

"  If  you  found  it  the  best  thing  for  you  I'd  be 
glad,"  said  Mavis.  "  Sailors  must  see  wonderful 
and  beautiful  things,"  she  went  on  thoughtfully. 

u  Perhaps  you  and  Winfried  might  be  sailors  to- 
gether some  time,"  said  Huby.  "  That  would  be 
nice." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bertrand.     "  When  I  got  to  be   cap- 
tain or  something  like  that,  I'll  look  him  up,  and  — 
but  he  stopped  abruptly.     There  had  been  a  touch  of 
arrogance  in  his  tone. 

Just  then  Ruby  ran  off.  Mavis  was  going  too, 
but  Bertrand  stopped  her. 

"  Mavis,"  he  said,  "  Winfried  knows  all  about  her. 
He  calls  her  his  princess." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mavis. 

"  And,"  Bertrand  went  on,  "  he  says  he  knows 
she'll  never  be  far  away  if  he  wants  her.  Even  ever 
so  far  away,  over  at  the  other  side  of  the  world,  out 
at  sea  with  no  land  for  weeks  and  months ;  he  says 
it  would  be  just  the  same,  or  even  better.  The 
loneliness  makes  it  easier  to  see  her  sometimes,  he 
says.  I  can  fancy  that,"  he  went  on  dreamily,  "  her 
eyes  are  a  little  like  the  sea,  don't  you  think, 
Mavis?  " 

"  Like  the  sea  when  it  is  quite  good,  quite  at 
peace,  loving  and  gentle,"  she  replied.  "  But  still, 
if  you  had  lived  beside  the  sea  as  long  as  we  have, 
Bertrand,  you'd  understand  that  there's  never  a  sure 
feeling  about  it,  you  never  know  what  it  won't  be 


168  THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   CASTLE. 

doing  next ;  and  the  princess,  you  know,  makes  you 
feel  surer  than  sure ;  that's  the  best  of  her." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bertrand,  "  the  sea's  like  Ruby  and 
me.  Now  just  at  this  time  I  want  more  than  any- 
thing to  be  good,  and  never  to  be  selfish  or  cruel,  or 
—  or  boasting,  or  mischievous.  But  when  I  get 
about  again  with  Ruby  —  even  though  she's  very 
good  now,  and  she  never  was  anything  like  as  bad  as 
me  —  I  don't  feel  sure  but  what  we  might  do  each 
other  harm  and  forget  about  being  good  and  all  that ; 
do  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  think  it's  a  very  good  thing  that  you  do  not 
feel  sure,"  said  Mavis.  But  she  was  struck  by  his 
saying  just  what  Ruby  herself  had  said,  and  it  made 
her  a  little  anxious. 

The  children's  new  resolutions,  however,  were  not 
put  to  the  test  in  the  way  they  expected.  Bertrand 
quickly  got  well  again  and  was  able  to  run  about  in 
his  usual  wa}^  But  very  soon  after  this  his  uncle, 
the  father  of  Ruby  arid  Mavis,  came  unexpectedly 
for  one  of  his  short  visits  to  the  castle,  to  his  little 
daughters'  great  delight.  And  when  he  left  he  took 
Bertrand  away  with  him.  There  was  more  than  one 
reason  for  the  boy's  visit  coming  to  an  end  so  much 
sooner  than  had  been  intended.  Miss  Hortensia  ma}^ 
have  had  something  to  do  with  it,  for  though  she  had 
grown  to  like  Bertrand  much  better  during  his  ill- 
ness, and  no  one  could  have  been  more  delighted 
than  she  at  the  improvement  in  him,  it  was  not  to 


OPENED    EYES.  169 

be  wondered  at  if  she  trembled  at  continuing  to  have 
the  charge  of  him.  Then,  too,  Bertrand  confided  to 
his  uncle  his  wish  to  be  a  sailor,  in  which  he  never 
again  wavered. 

Ruby  and  Mavis  felt  sad  when  the  travellers  had 
left  them.  Their  father's  "  good-byes  "  were  the  only 
alloy  to  the  pleasure  of  his  visits.  And  this  time 
there  was  Bertrand  to  say  good-bye  to  also  ! 

"  Who  would  have  thought,"  said  Mavis,  "that  we 
should  ever  be  sorry  to  see  him  go  ?  But  I  am  glad 
to  feel  sorry." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Hortensia,  "  much  better  for  him 
to  go  while  his  present  mood  lasts,  and  we  are  able 
to  regret  him.  And  maybe  he  will  come  to  pay  us 
a  visit  again  some  time  or  other." 

"  I  hope  he  will,"  said  Mavis.  "  I  don't  think  he 
will  ever  again  be  like  what  he  was,  cousin." 

"Mavis,"  said  Ruby,  when  they  were  alone,  "when 
Bertrand  does  come  to  see  us  again,  we  must  plan  all 
to  go  to  Forget-me-not  Land  together.  It  would  be 
so  nice,  all  four  of  us.  Winfried  will  come  to  see 
us  again  soon  ;  he  said  he  would  whenever  he  comes 
to  his  grandfather;  let  us  ask  him.  I  am  sure 
the  princess  wouldn't  mind  now  Bertrand  is  so 
different." 

"  I  am  sure  she  wouldn't,"  said  Mavis,  smiling. 

"  And  who  knows,"  Ruby  went  on,  "  what  lovely 
new  things  and  places  we  shan't  see  when  we  go 
there  again.  Winfried  says  there's  no  end  to 


170       THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

them,  and  that  every  time  we  go  we'll  find  more  to 
see."' 

"  Perhaps  it's  because  we  learn  to  see  better  and 
better,"  said  Mavis. 

And  I  think  she  was  right. 


THE   END. 


A    NEW    UNIFORM    EDITION 

OF 

MRS.  MOLESWORTH'S 

STORIES    FOR    CHILDREN 

WITH 

ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  WALTER  CRANE  AND  LESLIE  BROOKE, 


In  Ten  Volumes.     i2mo.     Cloth.     One  Dollar  a  Volume. 


/  Tell  Me  a  Story,  and  Herr  Baby. 

^"Carrots,"  and  A  Christmas  Child. 

$   Grandmother  Dear,  and  Two  Little  Waifs.  - 
*:/    The  Cuckoo  Clock,  and  The  Tapestry  Room. 

Christmas-Tree  Land,  and  A  Christmas  Posy. 
'  The  Children  of  the  Castle,  and  Four  Winds  Farm. 

Little  Miss  Peggy,  and  Nurse  Heatherdale's  Story. 
"Us,"  and  The  Rectory  Children. 
Rosy,  and  The  Girls  and  I. 
•  Mary. 


THE  SET,  TEN  VOLUMES,  IN  BOX,  $10.00. 


"  It  seems  to  me  not  at  all  easier  to  draw  a  lifelike  child  than  to  draw  a  lifelike  man 
or  woman:  Shakespeare  and  Webster  were  the  only  two  men  of  their  age  who  could 
do  it  with  perfect  delicacy  and  success;  at  least,  if  there  was  another  who  could,  I 
must  crave  pardon  of  his  happy  memory  for  my  forgetfulness  or  ignorance  of  his 
name.  Our  own  age  is  more  fortunate,  on  this  single  score  at  least,  having  a  larger 
and  far  nobler  proportion  of  female  writers;  among  whom,  since  the  death  of  George 
Eliot,  there  is  none  left  whose  touch  is  so  exquisite  and  masterly,  whose  love  is  so 
thoroughly  according  to  knowledge,  whose  bright  and  sweet  invention  is  so  fruitful, 
so  truthful,  or  so  delightful  as  Mrs.  Molesworth's.  Any  chapter  of  Tkc  Cuckoo  Clock 
or  the  enchanting  Adventures  of  Herr  Baby  is  worth  a  shoal  of  the  very  best  novels 
dealing  with  the  characters  and  fortunes  of  mere  adults."  — MRS.  A.  C.  SWINBURNE, 
in  The  Nineteenth  Century.  

MACMILLAN    &    CO., 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,   NEW   YORK. 
I 


MRS.   MOLESWORTH'S 
STORIES    FOR    CHILDREN. 


"There  is  hardly  a  better  author  to  put  into  the  hands  of  children  than  Mrs. 
Molesworth.  I  cannot  easily  speak  too  highly  of  her  work.  It  is  a  curious  art  she 
has,  not  wholly  English  in  its  spirit,  but  a  cross  of  the  old  English  with  the  Italian. 
Indeed,  I  should  say  Mrs.  Molesworth  had  also  been  a  close  student  of  the  German 
and  Russian,  and  had  some  way,  catching  and  holding  the  spirit  of  all,  created  a 
method  and  tone  quite  her  own.  .  .  .  Her  characters  are  admirable  and  real." —  St. 
Louis  Globe  Democrat. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  has  a  rare  gift  for  composing  stories  for  children.  With  a 
light,  yet  forcible  touch,  she  paints  sweet  and  artless,  yet  natural  and  strong,  charac- 
ters." —  Congregationalist. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  always  has  in  her  books  those  charming  touches  of  nature 
that  are  sure  to  charm  small  people.  Her  stories  are  so  likely  to  have  been  true  that 
men  '  grown  up'  do  not  disdain  them."  —  Home  Journal. 

"  No  English  writer  of  childish  stories  has  a  better  reputation  than  Mrs.  Moles- 
worth,  and  none  with  whose  stories  we  are  familiar  deserves  it  better.  She  has  a 
motherly  knowledge  of  the  child  nature,  a  clear  sense  of  character,  the  power  of 
inventing  simple  incidents  that  interest,  and  the  ease  which  comes  of  continuous 
practice."  —  Mail  and  Express. 

"  Christmas  would  hardly  be  Christmas  without  one  of  Mrs.  Molesworth's  stories. 
No  one  has  quite  the  same  power  of  throwing  a  charm  and  an  interest  about  the 
most  commonplace  every-day  doings  as  she  has,  and  no  one  has  ever  blended  fairy- 
land and  reality  with  the  same  skill."  —  Educational  Times. 

"Mrs.  Molesworth  is  justly  a  great  favorite  with  children;  her  stories  for  them 
are  always  charmingly  interesting  and  healthful  in  tone."  —  Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  books  are  cheery,  wholesome,  and  particularly  well  adapted  to 
refined  life.  It  is  safe  to  add  that  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  the  best  English  prose  writer 
for  children.  .  .  .  A  new  volume  from  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  always  a  treat." — The 
Beacon. 

"  No  holiday  season  would  be  complete  for  a  host  of  young  readers  without  a  volume 
from  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Molesworth.  ...  It  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  Mrs. 
Molesworth's  stories  that  older  readers  can  no  more  escape  their  charm  than  younger 
ones." — Christian  Union. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworlh  ranks  with  George  Macdonald  and  Mrs.  Evving  as  a  writer  of 
children's  stories  that  possess  real  literary  merit."  —  Milwaukee  Sentinel. 


THE  SET,  TEN  VOLUMES,    IN  BOX,    $10.00. 


MACMILLAN    &    CO., 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,    NEW    YORK. 


TELL  ME   A   STORY,    and   HERR   BABY. 

"  So  delightful  that  we  are  inclined  to  join  in  the  petition,  and  we  hope  she  may 
soon  veil  us  more  stories."  — At/ienceuin. 


'  <  CARROTS  ";    Just  a  Little  Boy. 

"  One  of  the  cleverest  and  most  pleasing  stories  it  has  been  our  good  fortune  to 
meet  with  for  some  time.  Carrots  and  his  sister  are  delightful  little  beings,  whom  to 
read  about  is  at  once  to  become  very  fond  of."  —  Examiner. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CHILD ;  A  Sketch  of  a  Boy's  Life. 

"  A  very  sweet  and  tenderly  drawn  sketch,  with  life  and  reality  manifest  through- 
out." —  Pall  Hall  Gazette. 

"  This  is  a  capital  story,  well  illustrated.  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  one  of  those  sunny, 
genial  writers  who  has  genius  for  writing  acceptably  for  the  young.  She  has  the 
happy  faculty  of  blending  enough  real  with  romance  to  make  her  stories  very  practi- 
cal for  good  without  robbing  them  of  any  of  their  exciting  interest."  —  Chicago  Inter- 
Ocean. 

"Mrs.  Molesworth's  A  Christinas  Child  is  a  story  of  a  boy-life.  The  book  is  a 
small  one,  but  none  the  less  attractive.  It  is  one  of  the  best  of  this  year's  juveniles." 

—  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  one  of  the  few  writers  of  tales  for  children  whose  sentiment 
though  of  the  sweetest  kind  is  never  sickly  ;  whose  religious  feeling  is  never  concealed 
yet  never  obtruded  ;  whose  books  are  always  good  but  never  '  goody.'  Little  Ted 
with  his  soft  heart,  clever  head,  and  brave  spirit  is  no  morbid  presentment  of  the 
angelic  child  '  too  good  to  live,'  and  who  is  certainly  a  nuisance  on  earth,  but  a 
charming  creature,  if  not  a  portrait,  whom  it  is  a  privilege  to  meet  even  in  fiction." 

—  The  Academy. 


MACMILLAN    &    CO., 

FIFTH   AVENUE,    NEW   YORK. 


THE   CUCKOO   CLOCK. 

"  A  beautiful  little  story.  ...     It  will  be  read  with  delight  by  every  child  into 
whose  hands  it  is  placed."  —  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


GRANDMOTHER   DEAR. 

"  The  author's  concern  is  with  the  development  of  character,  and  seldom  does  one 
meet  with  the  wisdom,  tact,  and  good  breeding  which  pervades  this  little  book."  — 
Nation. 


TWO   LITTLE   WAIFS. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  delightful  story  of  Two  Little  IVaifs  will  charm  all  the  small 
people  who  find  it  in  their  stockings.  It  relates  the  adventures  of  two  lovable  Eng- 
lish children  lost  in  Paris,  and  is  just  wonderful  enough  to  pleasantly  wring  the  youth- 
ful heart."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

"  It  is,  in  its  way.  indeed,  a  little  classic,  of  which  the  real  beauty  and  pathos  can 
hardly  be  appreciated  by  young  people.  ...  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  of  the  story 
that  it  is  perfect  of  its  kind."  —  Critic  and  Good  Literature. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  such  a  bright,  cheery  writer,  that  her  stories  are  always 
acceptable  lo  all  who  are  not  confirmed  cynics,  and  her  record  of  the  adventures  of 
the  little  waifs  is  as  entertaining  and  enjoyable  as  we  might  expect."  —  Boston 
Courier. 

"  Two  Little  Waifs  by  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  a  pretty  little  fancy,  relating  the  adven- 
tures of  a  pair  of  lost  children,  in  a  style  full  of  simple  charm.  It  is  among  the  very 
daintiest  of  juvenile  books  that  the  season  has  yet  called  forth  ;  and  its  pathos  and 
humor  are  equally  delightful.  The  refined  tone  and  the  tender  sympathy  with  the 
feelings  and  sentiments  of  childhood,  lend  it  a  special  and  an  abiding  charm."  —  Bos- 
ton Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  This  is  a  charming  little  juvenile  story  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Molesworth, 
detailing  the  various  adventures  of  a  couple  of  motherless  children  in  searching  for 
their  father,  whom  they  had  missed  in  Paris  where  they  had  gone  to  meet  him."  — 
Montreal  Star. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  a  popular  name,  not  only  with  a  host  of  English,  but  with  a 
considerable  army  of  young  Americrm  readers,  who  have  been  charmed  by  her  deli- 
cate fancy  and  won  by  the  interest  of  her  style.  Two  Little  Waifs,  illustrated  by 
Walter  Crane,  is  a  delightful  story,  which  comes,  as  all  children's  stories  ought  to  do, 
to  a  delightful  end."  —  CJiristian  Union. 


MACMILLAN    &    CO., 

66   FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW   YORK. 
4 


THE   TAPESTRY   ROOM. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  the  queen  of  children's  fairy-land.  She  knows  how  to  make 
use  of  the  vague,  fresh,  wondering  instincts  of  childhood,  and  to  invest  familiar 
things  with  fairy  glamour."  —  Athenceum. 

"  The  story  told  is  a  charming  one  of  what  may  be  called  the  neo-fairy  sort.  .  .  . 
There  has  been  nothing  better  of  its  kind  done  anywhere  for  children,  whether  we 
consider  its  capacity  to  awake  interest  or  its  wholesomeness."  —  Evening  Post. 

"  Among  the  books  for  young  people  we  have  seen  nothing  more  unique  than  The 
Tapestry  Room.  Like  all  of  Mrs.  Molesworth's  stories  it  will  please  young  readers 
by  the  very  attractive  and  charming  style  in  which  it  is  written."  —  Presbyterian 
Journal. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  will  be  remembered  as  a  writer  of  very  pleasing  stories  for 
children.  A  new  book  from  her  pen  will  be  sure  of  a  welcome  from  all  the  young 
people.  The  new  story  bears  the  name  of  The  Tapestry  Room  and  is  a  child's 
romance.  .  .  .  The  child  who  comes  into  possession  of  the  story  will  count  himself 
fortunate.  It  is  a  bright,  wholesome  story,  in  which  the  interest  is  maintained  to 
the  end.  The  author  has  the  faculty  of  adapting  herself  to  the  tastes  and  ideas  of 
her  readers  in  an  unusual  way."  —  New  Haven  Paladium, 


CHRISTMAS-TREE   LAND. 

"  It  is  conceived  after  a  happy  fancy,  as  it  relates  the  supposititious  journey  of  a 
party  of  little  ones  through  that  part  of  fairy-land  where  Christmas-trees  are  sup- 
posed to  most  abound.  There  is  just  enough  of  the  old-fashioned  fancy  about  fairies 
mingled  with  the  'modern  improveme  Us '  to  incite  and  stimulate  the  youthful 
imagination  to  healthful  action.  The  pi.tures  by  Walter  Crane  are,  of  course,  not 
only  well  executed  in  themselves,  but  in  charming  consonance  with  the  spirit  of  the 
tale."—  Troy  Times. 

"  Christmas-Tree  Land,  by  Mrs.  Molesworth,  is  a  book  to  make  younger  readers 
open  their  eyes  wide  with  delight.  A  little  boy  and  a  little  girl  domiciled  in  a  great 
white  castle,  wander  on  their  holidays  through  the  surrounding  fir-forests,  and  meet 
with  the  most  delightful  pleasures.  There  is  a  fascinating,  mysterious  character  in 
their  adventures  and  enough  of  the  fairy-like  and  wonderful  to  puzzle  and  enchant  all 
the  little  ones."  —  Boston  Home  Joiirnal. 


A   CHRISTMAS   POSY. 

"  This  is  a  collection  of  eight  of  those  inimitable  stories  for  children  which  none 
could  write  better  than  Mrs.  Molesworth.  Her  books  are  prime  favorites  with 
children  of  all  ages  and  they  are  as  good  and  wholesome  as  they  are  interesting  and 
popular.  This  makes  a  very  handsome  book,  and  its  illustrations  are  excellent."  — 
Christian  at  IVork. 

"  A  Christmas  Posy  is  one  of  those  charming  stories  for  girls  which  Mrs  Moles- 
worth  excels  in  writing."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  Here  is  a  group  of  bright,  wholesome  stories,  such  as  are  dear  to  children,  and 
nicely  tuned  to  the  harmonies  of  Christmas-tide.  Mr.  Crane  has  found  good  situ: 
ations  for  his  spirited  sketches." —  Churchman. 

"A  Christmas  Posy,  by  Mrs.  Molesworth,  is  lovely  and  fragrant.  Mrs.  Moles- 
worth  succeeds  by  right  to  the  place  occupied  with  so  much  honor  by  the  late  Mrs. 
Ewing,  as  a  writer  of  charming  stories  for  children.  The  present  volume  is  a  cluster 
of  delightful  short  stories.  Mr.  Crane's  illustrations  are  in  harmony  with  the  text." 
—  Christian  Intelligencer. 

MACMILLAN    &   CO., 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,   NEW   YORK. 
5 


THE   CHILDREN   OF    THE   CASTLE. 

"  The  Children  of  the  Castle,  by  Mrs.  Molesworth,  is  another  of  those  delightful 
juvenile  stories  of  which  this  author  has  written  so  many.  It  is  a  fascinating  little 
book,  with  a  charming  plot,  a  sweet,  pure  atmosphere,  and  teaches  a  wholesome 
moral  in  the  most  winning  manner."  —  B.  S.  E.  Gazette. 

"Mrs.  Molesworth  has  given  a  charming  story  for  children.  ...  It  is  a  whole- 
some book,  one  which  the  little  ones  will  read  with  interest."  —  Living  Church. 

"  The  Children  of  the  Castle  are  delightful  creations,  actual  little  girls,  living  in 
an  actual  castle,  but  often  led  by  their  fancies  into  a  shadowy  fairy-land.  There  is  a 
charming  refinement  of  style  and  spirit  about  the  story  from  beginning  to  end;  an 
imaginative  child  will  find  endless  pleasure  in  it,  and  the  lesson  of  gentleness  and 
unselfishness  so  artistically  managed  that  it  does  not  seem  like  a  lesson,  but  only  a 
part  of  the  story."  —  Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  stories  for  children  are  always  ingenious,  entertaining,  and 
thoroughly  wholesome.  Her  resources  are  apparently  inexhaustible,  and  each  new 
book  from  her  pen  seems  to  surpass  its  predecessors  in  attractiveness.  In  The  Chil- 
dren of  the  Castle  the  best  elements  of  a  good  story  for  children  are  very  happily 
combined."—  The  Week- 


FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  books  are  always  delightful,  but  of  all  none  is  more  charm- 
ing than  the  volume  with  which  she  greets  the  holidays  this  season.  Four  Winds 
Farm  is  one  of  the  most  delicate  and  pleasing  books  for  a  child  that  has  seen  the 
light  this  many  a  day.  It  is  full  of  fancy  and  of  that  instinctive  sympathy  with  child- 
hood which  makes  this  author's  books  so  attractive  and  so  individual."  —  Boston 
Courier. 

"  Like  all  the  books  she  has  written  this  one  is  very  charming,  and  is  worth 
more  in  the  hands  of  a  child  than  a  score  of  other  stories  of  a  more  sensational  char- 
acter."—  Christian  at  Work. 

"  Still  more  delicately  fanciful  is  Mrs.  Molesworth's  lovely  little  tale  of  the  F'our 
Winds  Farm.  It  is  neither  a  dream  nor  a  fairy  story,  but  concerns  the  fortune  of  a 
real  little  boy,  named  Gratian;  yet  the  dream  and  the  fairy  tale  seem  to  enter  into 
his  life,  and  make  part  of  it.  The  farm-house  in  which  the  child  lives  is  set  exactly 
at  the  meeting-place  of  the  four  winds,  and  they,  from  the  moment  of  his  birth,  have 
acted  as  his  self-elected  godmothers.  .  .  .  All  the  winds  love  the  boy,  and,  held  in 
the  balance  of  their  influence,  he  grows  up  as  a  boy  should,  simply  and  truly,  with 
a  tender  heart  and  firm  mind.  The  idea  of  this  little  book  is  essentially  poetical."  — 
Literary  World. 

"  This  book  is  for  the  children.  We  grudge  it  to  them.  .  There  are  few  children 
in  this  generation  good  enough  for  such  a  gift.  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  the  only  woman 
now  who  can  write  such  a  book.  .  .  .  The  delicate  welding  of  the  farm  life  about 
the  child  and  the  spiritual  life  within  him,  and  the  realization  of  the  four  immortals 
into  a  delightful  sort  of  half- femininity  shows  a  finer  literary  quality  than  anything 
we  have  seen  for  a  long  time.  The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land  is  in  this 
little  red  and  gold  volume."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 


MACMILLAN    &   CO., 

66    FIFTH   AVENUE,   NEW    YORK. 
6 


NURSE   HE ATHERD ALE'S   STORY. 

"  JVurse  H  eatherdale1  s  Story  is  all  about  a  small  boy,  who  was  good  enough,  yet 
was  always  getting  into  some  trouble  through  complications  in  which  he  was  not  to 
blame.  The  same  sort  of  things  happens  to  men  and  women.  He  is  an  orphan, 
though  he  is  cared  for  in  a  way  by  relations,  who  are  not  so  very  rich,  yet  are  looked 
on  as  well  fixed.  After  many  youthful  trials  and  disappointments  he  falls  into  a  big 
stroke  of  good  luck,  which  lifts  him  and  goes  to  make  others  happy.  Those  who 
want  a  child's  book  will  find  nothing  to  harm  and  something  to  interest  in  this  simple 
story."  —  Commercial  Advertiser. 


" 


US. 


"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  Us,  fin  Old-Fashioned  Story,  is  very  charming.  A  dear 
little  six-year-old  '  bruvver  '  and  sister  constitute  the  '  us,'  whose  adventures  with 
gypsies  form  the  theme  of  the  story.  Mrs.  Molesworth's  style  is  graceful,  and  she 
pictures  the  little  ones  with  brightness  and  tenderness."  —  Evening  P^st. 

"  A  pretty  and  wholesome  story."  —  Literary  World. 

"  Us,  an  Old-Fashioned  Story,  is  a  sweet  and  quaint  story  of  two  little  children 
•ho  lived  long  ago,  in  an  old-fashioned  way,  with  their  grandparents.     The  story  is 


who  lived  long  ago,  in  an  old-fashioned  way,  wi 
delightfully  told."  —  Philadelphia  News. 


"  Us  is  one  of  Mrs.  Molesworth's  charming  little  stories  for  young  children.  The 
narrative  ...  is  full  of  interest  for  its  real  grace  and  delicacy,  and  the  exquisiteness 
and  purity  of  the  English  in  which  it  is  written."  —  Boston  Advertiser. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  last  story,  Us,  will  please  the  readers  of  that  lady's  works  by 
its  pleasant  domestic  atmosphere  and  healthful  moral  tone.  The  narrative  moves 
forward  with  sufficient  interest  to  hold  the  reader's  attention;  and  there  are  useful 
lessons  for  young  people  to  be  drawn  from  it."  —  Independent. 

"...  Mrs.  Molesworth's  story  ...  is  very  simple,  refined,  bright,  and  full  of 
the  real  flavor  of  childhood."  —  Literary  IVorld. 


THE   RECTORY   CHILDREN. 

"  It  is  a  book  written  for  children  in  just  the  way  that  is  best  adapted  to  please 
them."  —  Morning  Post. 

"  In  The  Rectory  Children  Mrs.  Molesworth  has  written  one  of  those  delightful 
volumes  which  we  always  look  for  at  Christmas  time."  — Athen&um. 

"  A  delightful  Christmas  book  for  children;  a  racy,  charming  home  story,  full  of 
good  impulses  and  bright  suggestions."  —  Boston  Traveller. 

"Quiet,  sunny,  interesting,  and  thoroughly  winning  and  wholesome."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  There  is  no  writer  of  children's  books  more  worthy  of  their  admiration  and  love 
than  Mrs.  Molesworth.  Her  bright  and  sweet  invention  is  so  truthful,  her  char- 
acters so  faithfully  drawn,  and  the  teaching  of  her  stories  so  tender  and  noble,  that 
while  they  please  and  charm  they  insensibly  distil  into  the  youthful  mind  the  most 
valuable  lessons.  In  The  Rectory  Children  we  have  a  fresh,  bright  story,  that 
will  be  sure  to  please  all  her  young  admirers."  —  Christian  at  IVork. 

"  The  Rectory  Children,  by  Mrs.  Molesworth,  is  a  very  pretty  story  of  English 
life.  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  one  of  the  most  popular  and  charming  of  English  story- 
writers  for  children.  Her  child  characters  are  true  to  life,  always  natural  and 
attractive,  and  her  stories  are  wholesome  and  interesting."  —  Indianapolis  Journal. 


MACMILLAN    &    CO., 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,   NEW    YORK. 
7 


ROSY. 

"  Rosy,  like  all  the  rest  of  her  stories,  is  bright  and  pure  and  utterly  free  from  cant, 
—  a  book  that  children  will  read  with  pleasure  and  lasting  profit."  —  Boston  Trav- 
eller. 

"  There  is  no  one  who  has  a  genius  better  adapted  for  entertaining  children  than 
Mrs.  Molesworth,  and  her  latest  story,  Rosy,  is  one  of  her  best.  It  is  illustrated  with 
eight  woodcuts  from  designs  by  Walter  Crane."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"An  English  story  for  children  of  the  every-day  life  of  a  bright  little  girl,  which 
will  please  those  who  like  '  natural '  books." — New  York  World. 

"...  Mrs.  Molesworth 's  clever  Rosy,  a  story  showing  in  a  charming  way  how 
one  little  girl's  jealousy  and  bad  temper  were  conquered;  one  of  the  best,  most 
suggestive  and  improving  of  the  Christmas  juveniles."  —  New  York  Tribune, 

"  Rosy  is  an  exceedingly  graceful  and  interesting  story  by  Mrs.  Molesworth,  one 
of  the  best  and  most  popular  writers  of  juvenile  fiction.  This  little  story  is  full  of 
tenderness,  is  fragrant  in  sentiment,  and  points  with  great  delicacy  and  genuine  feel- 
ing a  charming  moral."  —  Boston  Gazette. 


THE   GIRLS   AND   I. 

"  Perhaps  the  most  striking  feature  of  this  pleasant  story  is  the  natural  manner  in 
which  it  is  written.  It  is  just  like  the  conversation  of  a  bright  boy  —  consistently 
like  it  from  beginning  to  end.  It  is  a  boy  who  is  the  hero  of  the  tale,  and  he  tells  the 
adventures  of  himself  and  those  nearest  him.  He  is,  by  the  way,  in  many  respects 
an  example  for  most  young  persons.  It  is  a  story  characterized  by  sweetness  and 
purity — a  desirable  one  to  put  into  the  hands  of  youthful  readers." — Gettysburg 
Monthly. 

"  Jack  himself  tells  the  story  of  The  Girls  and  /,  assisted  of  course  by  Mrs.  Moles- 
worth,  whose  name  will  recall  to  the  juveniles  pleasant  memories  of  interesting  read- 
ing, full  of  just  the  things  that  children  want  to  know,  and  of  that  which  will  excite 
their  ready  sympathies.  Jack,  while  telling  the  story  of  the  girls,  takes  the  readers 
into  his  own  confidence,  and  we  like  the  little  fellow  rather  better  than  the  girls.  The 
interest  is  maintained  by  the  story  of  a  lost  jewel,  the  ultimate  finding  of  which,  in 
the  most  unexpected  place,  closes  the  story  in  a  very  pleasant  manner.  Jack,  other- 
wise Mrs.  Molesworth,  tells  the  tale  in  a  lively  style,  and  the  book  will  attract  atten- 
tion." —  The  Globe. 

"...  A  delightful  and  purposeful  story  which  no  one  can  read  without  being 
benefited."  —  New  York  Observer. 


MARY. 

MRS.  MOLESWORTH'S  LAST  STORY.     Just  Ready. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  reputation  as  a  writer  of  story-books  is  so  well  established 
that  any  new  book  of  hers  scarce  needs  a  word  of  introduction."  —  Home.  Journal. 


MACMILLAN    &    CO., 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,   NEW   YORK. 
8 


RETURN    EDUCATION-PSYCHOLOGY  LIBRARY 

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Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed 


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FORM  NO.  DD10 


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